


The Stolen Prince

by Amigara



Series: The Straying Prince Universe [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adventure, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Trans Character, Corruption, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Fantasy, Flowers, Forced Marriage, Gen, Gratuitous and Random Swedish, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Murder, Muteness, Novel, Original Universe, Pagan Gods, Princes & Princesses, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Royalty, Sign Language, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Violence, War, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 114,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amigara/pseuds/Amigara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medin, the former crown princess of Solfru, does not want to be Queen. All he wants is to go on adventures with his best friend with benefits and bodyguard, Aderia. When Aderia's best friend from school, the psychic-in-training Ryca, arrives in the capital for the Harvest Festival, Medin unveils his plan for the greatest adventure yet: they're going to steal the winter prince of Ishem.</p><p>Tagged Mature to be safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1. Ryca I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a novel length original story inspired by too many fantasy books to list. Additional (possibly spoilery) warnings will be posted in the beginning of each chapter. Don't read them if you don't want to be spoiled, read them if you want to be prepared for what might come.
> 
> Visit kaelwinterprince.tumblr.com for art, discussion, reference/inspiration photos, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:
> 
> Mentions of alcohol and drug use  
> Excessively flirtatious prince

**Chapter 1. Ryca I.**

**Queensport, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

Sun City and her Queensport was lit from behind by the setting sun, her spires and domes seen in stark black silhouettes against the purple sky. Ryca squinted and raised her gloved hand over her eyes, trying to make out the Belt, the large mountain range in the distance that formed the natural border between her native Solfru and the neighboring land of Ishem. But it was too hazy to see so far, so she adjusted her focus to the city in the foreground as the bélandre approached the busy port.

 

Sun City, the capital of Solfru, was built mainly out of the pale rocks common to the Solfru coast, with square, straight houses piled up in levels and layers scaling the cliffs overlooking the East Sea. At the highest top, with gilded domes so polished to a shine that they were blinding, towered Brightcastle, the home of the royal family, which had once come this very way with a whole fleet. The Castle faced the ocean, with balconies hanging out over nothing but water. On the other three sides, the royal gardens spilled out, with greenery and fruit trees and flowers from all corners of the world. The green ran through the city like rivers, with rooftop gardens and parks, some smaller than a house and some nearly as large as the Brightcastle itself. The rivers of green trickled along with rivers of blue out into smaller and smaller streams the further down the cliffs they traveled, and with them the houses seemed to change color, from the sandy paleness of Brightcastle to darker stone and wood buildings at the base. Down by the port, more buildings were wooden than made of stone. Waterfalls both great and small hurled off the cliff and into the sea below, water from rivers and water pumped up from the rock to irrigate the many gardens.

 

A strong wind from the east caught her robes and she pinned them down, shuddering as the cold bit through her flesh like a blade. Behind her, the sailors shouted to one another in loud, brusque voices. They were nearing port, and the ship was prepared. Ryca, and the other few who had paid for passage from Dim, stayed out of their way. Fourteen years ago, she might have paid her fare by labor instead. Even as a child, she had been perfectly at home on ships. Since then she had lost the skill, and the physique, for it.

 

Ryca hugged close to the railing, peering down at the people in the Queensport. Barrels, crates, chests and nets of wares from all over the world were unloaded and taken to storage, or to the market. Barrels, crates, chests and nets of wares from Solfru were loaded onto other ships. People were running back and forth, shouting in a variety of languages. A fishing vessel had landed near the empty spot along the quay where their vessel was attempting to land. Hoards of people were pushed up near the fishing vessel, shouting over one another to buy the freshest fish they could get, cheaper than once it had made it to the market. There were less wares, and they were more expensive. Troubles in the colonies. Storms. Production in Ishem was in decline. People haggled, fought over deals on spices, fabrics, furs.

 

Yet she didn't spot them, and her heart sank. As many times as Ryca had made the day long trip from the temple island to Queensport, she felt as anxious each time. Last time she had come had been almost six months ago now. A trade ship traversed the distance biweekly, when the weather permitted, bringing wares from the capital. For a fee, one could come along either way. Lately, the fee had become heftier and heftier, and the standard biweekly trips had become bimonthly, at best. The summer storms had finally passed now.

 

Ryca was the first passenger down the walkway, stepping lightly and deliberately to keep her balance, while holding her flowing robes and skirts down as the wind picked up even more. Her hood blew down, ruffling her long dark hair and making a mess of the soft curls. She huffed in frustration as she looked around, her nose filled with the stench of fish and her ears with the cries of _Fresh eel! Flounder! Git yer seabass cheap!_ Ryca glanced around at the swarm of people, looking for a dash of fiery orange or a flash of gold... yet almost all she saw was orange. 

 

“Of course,” she muttered, shoving her hands down the large pockets on the front of her robe. A wet glob of flesh was thrust in front of her face, and she barely had time to stop before becoming uncomfortably intimate with a cephalopod.

 

“Octopus to spice up your harvest hotpot, ma'am?!” cried the man holding it. His eyes had a desperate gleam in them. The crates behind him was full of octopuses, and the smell suggested they weren't going to last much longer, yet he had sold none. Ryca smiled nervously and shook her head, excusing herself and pushing on.

 

The harvest festival. Everyone wore reds, oranges and yellows. Ryca, who only owned black robes, had made a scarf for the occasion. She pulled it up around her mouth and nose, inhaling the scent of the dyed wool and trying to ignore the smell of fish. How would she find Aderia in this mess? If Aderia even remembered. She stepped to the side, out of the rush of city dwellers shopping for dinner, shopping for feasts, delivering goods, or advertising services. She leaned up against the wall of a storehouse, near the staircases and sloping, slithering cobblestone road leading up through the city levels. It was the main street to and from the harbor, and if Aderia was coming down to meet her, she would likely come through here. She waited.

 

The sun had nearly set completely. The crowds had dispersed and the city was growing dark. Homes and taverns lit their lanterns, shops shut and locked their doors. Ryca was shivering with cold already, teeth rattling a little. A rowdy group of sailors walked by, laughing drunkenly and shouting suggestions at a couple of women waiting in a doorway. Ryca pulled her robes tighter around herself and reached for the dagger at her side. She was near tears. Aderia had written that she'd be here to meet the ship from Dim. Perhaps that prince of hers had kept her occupied. But Ryca couldn't keep waiting.

 

She sighed and headed for the staircase. To her left, the door to a tavern opened, letting out the noise and light from within. As she started walking up the stairs, she heard heavy steps behind her. She grasped her dagger tighter. Walked faster. Up the steps. She heard a whistle behind her, demanding her attention. There were two sets of footsteps. Her field of vision narrowed, her heart beat faster. Another whistle. She ignored it, focused on walking faster. A hand grabbed her arm from behind.

 

Ryca struck out fast. Her dagger glinted in the dark. She whirled around, stabbing down at the person on the steps below her. Her other hand was caught. She was about to scream, when she saw the shock of orange hair, and a bright, wide grin. Ryca relaxed instantly, and Aderia let her go. Ryca put her dagger away and embraced her warmly, resting her head on the top of Aderia's. She smelled of sunshine and spiced wine.

 

“You jerk,” Ryca murmured into Aderia's dense curls. “You scared me.” Aderia squeezed Ryca tightly before pushing away from her. With her hands free, Aderia replied.

 

_I whistled._ Aderia signed with loose, large movements.  _You didn't hear_ . 

 

“So did several people I would have rather not waited for.” Ryca looked past Aderia, at the young man standing there, swaying slightly with a smirk on his face. The prince. He was quite handsome, even darker-skinned than Aderia. He had the same tight curls on his head as Aderia did, but his were black, even blueish, and cropped short where Aderia's burst out of her head like a bright halo.

 

“Your Highness.” Ryca bowed her head, too frazzled for a full curtsy. She brushed her hair back behind her ears, adjusting her robes and making sure they fell smoothly down her thin body. She became very aware of how she must look. Windblown and stressed, with watery eyes, shivering from the adrenaline and the cold.

 

“Let's get you out of the cold, darling. Your teeth are rattling.” The prince motioned back down the stairs, to the tavern door that still stood ajar. He went on ahead. Aderia put a thick, strong arm around Ryca's waist and walked down with her. Ryca wanted to stay angry at them but gave in. She wrapping her arm around Aderia's broad shoulders, minding her gilded steel pauldrons.

 

The tavern was much warmer. It was stuffy and hot and smoky, and not a place Ryca would have expected royalty to frequent. Yet the barkeep, a bouncy, cute woman with laugh lines and cornrows, waved and called out to them as they entered. The prince lead them up to the bar, laughing.

 

“Can't stay away from me, can you?” The barkeep teased, before noticing Ryca and giving her a curious expression. Ryca nodded in greeting.

 

“You know it. Another round. Spiced wine.” The prince looked back at Aderia and Ryca. His hazel eyes reflected the warm light from lanterns and the two fireplaces on either side of the crowded dark room. He raised an eyebrow in question. Ryca nodded. “Three cups. Thank you, doll.”

 

The woman behind the bar laughed, hands on her wide hips. “Don't try that, young man. You may be the prince, but I am a married woman.”

 

The prince and the barkeep kept bantering back and forth, clearly familiar with one another. Ryca turned to Aderia. She was very surprised by all this. She hadn't expected to meet the prince at all, much less find him in a place like this, acting so familiar. She looked away in embarrassment when the prince tried to pay with a kiss.

 

_I apologize, Ryca_ . Aderia signed her name with a variation of the gesture for 'sister'.  _We were waiting for you in the harbor. I heard there might be a storm. That the ship from Dim might not have left the island at all_ .

 

“No matter. I'm glad to see you, sister.” Ryca smiled. She signed the last word as she said it. Aderia was not deaf, but mute. Ryca had still made it a habit to sign along with her speech.

 

The prince turned around and gave the two women their glasses, before leading the way to a table, one of few not occupied. Ryca's chair wobbled and groaned when she sat down in it, and she gripped the equally unstable and worn out table tightly. The chair held, as did the table. She fished out two drawstring pouches from an inside pocket of her robe and placed them down at the table in front of her. She was intensely aware of the prince's eyes on her, but focused on what she was doing. She pulled out a thin ceramic smoking tube from the smaller pouch, and stuffed it with an aromatic mix of dried herbs and flowers. She lit it with her tinderbox, and took a deep drag from it. The tension soon melted from her body, and she relaxed into her uncomfortable chair.

 

“Can I try that?” The prince asked, reaching for the smoking tube. Ryca hesitated, before handing it over. The prince wiped the lipstick from the mouthpiece before bringing it to his lips. Ryca's hands felt restless without the pipe, and opened the other pouch, grabbing a fistful of dried fruit and roasted nuts. She had forgotten to eat again, and despite the warmth of the loud tavern, she was getting chills.

 

Aderia whistled a short note to get their attention, then signed. _A toast. To old friends._ She grinned cheekily. Her dimpled cheeks had turned a dark red, and her eyes looked hazy. Drunk, the both of them, Ryca thought. If not for the sword at Aderia's side and the shield on her back, she would have assumed she was off duty.

 

“To new friends.” The prince toned in with his customary smirk, handing the pipe on to Aderia, who accepted it giddily. She inhaled deeply from it, and let the smoke out slowly through her wide nose. Ryca wanted to grab it back already. Instead she raised her cup of wine, touching it to Aderia's and the prince's.

 

A single glass was enough to bring Ryca to the point the others had apparently spent a couple of hours to reach. The prince had insisted that she called him Medin, and she did. Ryca had insisted that he stopped calling her 'darling', and he eventually listened. Ryca wasn't as rowdy as her two companions, but she learned a lot listening in. Medin's voice grew slurred, and Aderia's hands became lazier. Ryca noted that Medin signed too as he spoke. She also noticed that he seemed to know almost everyone here.

 

Food was called in. A thick red lentil soup that smelled spicy. Ryca declined her bowl, and Aderia gave her a concerned look before digging into her own bowl with fervor. Ryca's cup was empty, and she had gone through two refills of her pipe (although with the help of her two companions).

 

Medin leaned in to touch her. She froze in place. Her Adam's apple bobbed as she swallowed nervously. His warm fingertips brushed against it briefly. But he was reaching for her necklace, grasping the medallion. He brushed his thumb over the eye symbol etched into the surface of the wood.

 

“Aderia gave this to me,” Ryca said, after she had found her voice again. She had heard about Medin's conquests and it had seemed inevitable that she would be targeted as well. A large part of the voyage across the East Sea had been spent worrying.

 

“Can you tell me my future?” Medin asked.

 

Ryca felt her cheeks heat up but she remained calm. “That depends on what future you would like me to tell you.” She answered cryptically to hide her embarrassment. She didn't like lying.

 

“The true one.” Medin let go of her necklace, and Ryca adjusted it, as well as her robes.

 

“Then no, I can't,” Ryca admitted. She had been with the Temple for six years, but had not yet unlocked her Sight. It was frustrating. Perhaps she had no Sight at all, though she'd rather not linger on the idea.

 

“That's a shame.” The prince pouted and draped himself over the table. He glanced up at her as if he thought he was being cute, with his childishness. Aderia was laughing. The corner of Ryca's mouth twitched, but she didn't let herself smile at him. He continued, from down on the tabletop. “You could've told us how our mission's gonna go.”

 

Aderia cleared her throat and glanced nervously from Medin to Ryca. _Don't._ She signed.

 

“Don't what...?” Ryca asked. She was really at a loss here. She had hoped to come to the capital for a couple of weeks, work at the Temple in Sun City for a while, stay for the harvest festival, and spend time with her little sister from the orphanage. She had a sinking feeling her vacation was not going to be an easy one.

 

“We're going to Ishem. Tomorrow.” Medin lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, and Ryca found herself leaning in closer to listen, in spite of herself. “Aderia and I. Secret royal mission from mom.”

 

“You mean Her Majesty...?” Ryca looked from the prince, prone and smirking up at her from the table, to Aderia, swaying in her seat. She still looked reluctant, but seemed to have accepted Medin's choice. Medin went on as if he hadn't noticed the interruption.

 

“You'll come with us. We're going to Exile. To the Spires.” Medin leaned up, eyes unfixed but glowing with intensity. Ryca found herself caught up in it. Maybe it was the herbs, or the wine, or maybe her powers were finally making themselves known. She had a feeling she knew what Medin was going to say before he said it, and she steeled herself for it. Even so, she dropped her pipe when the words left his lips.

 

“We are going to steal a Prince.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2. Kael I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter 2:
> 
> Implied child abuse  
> Forced marriage

**Chapter 2. Kael I.**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Early morning light streamed in through the glass roof and walls of the orangery. The fruit trees and berry bushes and fragrant flowers, usually so bright and vivid, were slouching, turning brown. The glass room bordering on the castle gardens was warm, much warmer than outside, but too cold still to truly support the plants inside. These kinds of plants belonged on the sunlit slopes of Solfru, not in the cold, dreary capital of Ishem. The proper castle gardens were home to sturdier plants. Evergreens and perennial flowers. Hardy but tasteless frostberries, pale and unappetizing until the first frost took them. The first frost had come tonight, and soon the thick mats of berry bushes covering the garden grounds would bloom in bright red. But as of yet, the gardens were an even more depressing sight than the drooping and dying greenhouse flowers.

 

A small bird with bright blue plumage, hardly larger than his clenched fist, landed on the spine of an abandoned book and began to sing. The leatherbound tome was turned over on its face, opened to one of the first few pages. It had lain there for days, and yet the prospect of continuing on seemed no more tempting than the day before, or the one before that.

 

The bird's calming but melancholic song did nothing to inspire any further diligence. It had been a gift, from some ass kissing noble or another. _Named after you, my Lord._ As though there was no greater honor than to be the namesake of a creature destined to live out its life in a cage. But Kael had come to cherish the bird regardless of that, though he'd forgotten who he supposedly owed his gratitude.

 

The door to the orangery opened and Kael sat up gently from the shaded, cushioned bench he had been laying back on. Despite his effort not to, he startled the bird which interrupted its near hypnotic song and took off, finding a safer perch in one of the potted lemon trees on the other end of the glass encased garden.

 

Marett stood in the doorway, filling out most of it with his broad body. He had been a soldier once, he had told Kael, showing him scars and answering curious questions of how he'd gotten each one with something like pride in his voice. Then he had been a priest, all the way up in Frost by the ice lakes, and then he had come to Exile to serve on the Council. He had a far more rugged, rough look about him than the rest of the Council members. Pampered politicians and nobles, most of them, hardly looking like they'd done a day of hard work in their lives. Kael liked Marett's easy smile and rough accent so much better than any of their stern, sour faces and simpering, venomous voices. Despite three years in the capital, Marett's 'r's still rolled harshly, and his 'k's and 't's were hard and sharp. He spoke honestly, brutally so at times.

 

“If you let that bird fly around free, it's gonna fly off,” Marett said, closing the door behind him softly. He crossed the orangery with firm steps and took a seat on the bench to Kael's right, making the wood groan. He smelled of sweat and cooking grease and smoke. He must have gone to the training grounds and then grabbed breakfast in the kitchen without waiting for Kael.

 

“Where is it going to fly? Unless you left my bedroom door gaping open, there is no place to go,” Kael replied in a petulant tone. He saw the expression on Marett's tan face, and quickly looked down. He was right. The newest maids, a pair of twin girls who always avoided his gaze, sometimes forgot to close his door after making his bed. “Sorry. I know. I feel bad for her. That's all.”

 

Marett's hand landed heavily on Kael's head, ruffling his long hair into a tangled mess.

 

“You've got a good heart. That's why you've been chosen.” The low rumble of Marett's voice could be so comforting, but when he went on like this...

 

“I know!” Kael hadn't meant to snap, his shoulders pulled up and his left hand ripping obsessively at a loose thread in the pink and green lines of flowers embroidered around the hem of the right sleeve. It lay empty across his lap. His arm stump ached like the wound was fresh and not an old scar. At least his other scar never hurt, but no bone had been severed there, only flesh, and not through blunt violence but with a sharp and precise blade.

 

The sky was still clear, but from Kael's experience, this aching meant downpour, maybe even a storm. It wasn't yet as strong as it was before a snowfall, but the dull throbbing told of bad weather to come.

 

Marett stopped tangling Kael's hair with a tired sigh that made Kael flinch. He didn't mean to be so taxing, so ungrateful... allowing his bad mood and aching body affect Marett, who did nothing but try to help him. _Stupid, stupid..._

 

But Marett didn't press the matter. He reached for a hair brush on the nearby side table, and began running the boar bristles through Kael's hair. Kael relaxed, leaning into the grooming and closing his eyes. They had began to ache too, with the rising sun making the room too bright. Either he got to spend a dark, cloudy day with a hurting shoulder, or a bright, sunny day blinded with burned skin and nausea. He certainly didn't feel very blessed.

 

After a quiet moment, Kael had nearly fallen asleep. Marett's hands may be scarred and rough, but they were gentle as they combed the knots and tangles from his hair, leaving a glossy cascade of silver flowing down to his waist. Marett went to work braiding it back – he had once said he'd earned some money as a boy making ropes and weaving baskets – and he was quite good at it.

 

“You did not get much further, I see,” Marett broke the silence. Kael jolted awake and quickly apologized for falling asleep. Marett tied the braid off with a leather strap. “In the book I had made for you, I mean. Is the writing still not large enough?”

 

The letters were plenty large enough. And it was a beautiful book, even decorated with paintings. It must have cost a fortune. Kael felt ashamed to have treated it the way he had, and yet he couldn't explain himself without repetition.

 

“No, the writing is good... I can see the letters fine now. But by the time I have finished a sentence, I've forgotten the one before it.” Kael brushed his fingertips over the decorated leather cover. Running his nails through the grooves and along the lines. His eyes were weak, especially when it was too bright. And so he had only learned to read recently, under Marett's stubborn and persistent guidance. Still, it made him fidget, it gave him headaches, and he couldn't get into it the way he could when Marett read to him, enacting the stories, giving them lives, making them mean something.

 

“You only just learned. And it must be difficult. You read so slowly, and it is a rather difficult text...”

 

Kael knew Marett was trying to be sympathetic, but the words made him feel worse. He nodded silently, not trusting his voice to remain steady if he tried to speak. Kael knew he read slowly, but he also knew Marett didn't truly think the text was difficult. Which meant the text was easy, which meant Kael was just stupid.

 

“You can try again.” Marett said firmly. He picked up the book and turned it back over, placing it on Kael's lap face up. A portrait of a girl who looked very much like himself, down to the gown and braids, stared up at him. Laela. The first Princess. Kael's eyes watered and he felt silly for nearly crying at the thought.

 

He tried to read, and Marett read alongside him, pointing to letters, pronouncing them as they would be pronounced for each word. Marett's arm was wrapped around him. Kael knew he meant nothing by it, Marett was just using his left hand to lead Kael's gaze across the pages. But it trapped Kael's arm against his body, and the heavy book on his lap became another barrier. The bird started singing again. He wanted to shout at it to shut its beak, but he didn't. He kept reading out loud. “T...the... wi...winter... had... tu... turned... cold...”

 

The sun stood high in the sky before he knew it, and his head was throbbing. A ray of sunlight had come around the screen shading the bench, falling across the book and dangerously near Kael's hand. He would burn and blister before long if it touched him. He pulled his arm back, hiding his hand in his sleeve. The room was far too bright. It was becoming harder and harder to make out the letters, the pale parchment drowning out the black ink until the page looked as though it was all made of light. He squinted and clenched his teeth, trying to make out the shrinking shapes of the letters. He felt sweaty and cold as the temperatures climbed steadily in orangery. He wanted to stop soon, but he had already disappointed Marett enough. He soldiered on as he started feeling faint.

 

There came a persistent knock on the door, a savior in his suffering.

 

“Come in!” The swift change in Marett's voice from a low, warm murmur right next to his right ear to a loud barking shout _still_ right in his ear startled Kael and made his growing headache explode.

 

Kael looked up at the door and the rush of cooler air from the bedroom beyond it made Kael shudder. He felt like he might vomit, but that may have been the hunger. He realized then he had yet to eat or drink this morning, and the shadows in the orangery told him it must be near midday.

 

A woman entered, and Kael recognized her as one of the Council members. He couldn't make out her face other than as a pale blur, even when he squinted. She was covered from head to toe in white, he could tell, so she must have come straight from a service. He knew her as a dull person, rarely having anything to add to any discussion, and nowhere as bright or friendly as she seemed to think she was. She held a seat on the Council as had her father and grandmother before her. Though he couldn't see it at the moment, he knew her wrinkled face must be locked in a scowl.

 

“Apologies, my Lords.” Her voice sounded flat as ever. Though she was too far away for it, Kael imagined he could smell her sour milk breath. “But there has been a _sign_. You must see for yourself.”

 

“I suppose we must, then. We will be along shortly.” Marett waited until she had turned on her heel and hurried off again before he released Kael, setting the book aside. Marett stood, but Kael remained seated. It felt as though his heart had stopped beating and his stomach turned to ice.

 

“Come now, Kael.” Marett prompted. “This may be the sign we have been waiting for all this time!”

 

That was exactly what Kael was afraid of. But he didn't say so. He stood and walked slowly over to the citrus tree where the bird had taken shelter. He cooed it, whistled at it, until he had coaxed it onto his hand, and from there managed to bring it into its gilded cage.

 

“I will be back soon, Kay.”

 

He linked arms with Marett, his left in Marett's right. Next to him, Kael felt even smaller. Marett was over a head taller than he, and twice as broad across the shoulders. But Marett gave him his kindest smile, and Kael felt a little braver. He nodded up at him. His stomach let out a roar, and Marett looked surprised before laughing.

 

“Why didn't you tell me you were hungry? You weren't waiting for me this morning, were you?”

 

Kael had in fact been waiting. Marett usually broke his fast with him, unless he had said otherwise the night before. This morning he just hadn't showed up. But Kael shook his head. Marett must have been too busy for him.

 

“I forgot to eat. I'm sorry.”

 

“You are very forgetful, aren't you?” Marett sighed. “I will accompany you to the kitchen for lunch once we have seen what Iona is so excited about.”

 

Yes. He was very forgetful. It had been silly of him to not eat. “I didn't think she was capable of excitement.”

 

Marett laughed boisterously. Kael felt good again, grinned. Despite the headache and empty stomach and fear of the future, he had made Marett laugh. The man shook his head, trying to look stern even with a grin on his face. The way his copper hair fell over one warm, brown eye made him look sly, even mischievous.

 

“You shouldn't speak that way, my Prince. That woman is a member of your Council, and she deserves your respect. She is very knowledgeable when it comes to your betrothed.”

 

_It was a shame she wasn't as knowledgeable when it came to oral hygiene_ , Kael thought, but he kept it to himself.

 

They were nearing the throne room, and his heart was sinking in his chest. Not knowing what may wait inside it made it worse. He had hated going near the room for a long time now. They entered through a side door, rather than the main gates, and came up on the side of the throne. Kael's gaze was on the cold marble floor. He imagined he could still see the bloodstains on it, but he knew they had been wiped clean. In his mind, the room still reeked of iron.

 

Just under the tall, vaulted ceiling were rows of windows with no panes, simple holes in the wall to let in light and air and storms. Birds nested high above their heads. They had done so since the Spires were built. It was said even the birds were in awe of the powerful Is, and stayed silent in His castle to not wake Him from His rest.

 

During their trek from the westernmost Spire, where Kael's room and the gardens laid, to the easternmost Spire and the throne room, the sun had clouded over. The great, barren hall was lit by dull, gray light, making it look colder still than it felt.

 

At the very back of the throne room, behind the empty stone throne, sat Is. The God was rendered out of blue crystal. It truly looked like he was made from ice, but it was even more remarkable knowing it was all made from a single piece of crystal. Is sat with crossed legs and straight back. One large, long-fingered hand rested in his lap, palm up and fingers lightly curled. The other hand rested against the statue's chest, covering the area where a heart would be, in a human. The face looked featureless and barely human, with blank eyeballs from milky white marble inset into the crystal carved head. On top of Is' head was his crown, tall and with only two points. The castle itself with its dual spires was created to mirror the crown of Is.

 

Most of the Council was already gathered at the feet of the statue, gathered in a semicircle, murmuring in low voices. Marett's grip on Kael's arm tightened when their gazes fell on the two. Kael thought he could sense the dislike and jealousy radiating off of them, despite not being able to make out their faces in detail. Perhaps he was imagining things due to his own dislike of them. He realized he should ask what had happened but Iona pointed up before he could, gesturing toward the head of the statue without word. Kael felt dizzy squinting up at it, his body going cold. He couldn't make it out, whatever she was pointing at. It was all a blur. But he heard the intake of breath next to him. Marett could see it, whatever it was.

 

“A white Bergenia. From the mountains of Frost,” Iona whispered in awe. “A five day ride from here, yet the flower looks fresh.”

 

A wedding flower. Kael couldn't breathe. He could barely make out the evergreen winter flower in Is' hand when a movement up higher caught his gaze. A small dot up in the ceiling, a bird, a fairly large one. A crow perhaps. It dropped something, which landed at Kael's feet. He crouched down and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. It felt like his heart stopped beating. His mouth had gone dry. All the preparations, his studies, his classes... yet, he didn't truly feel prepared.

 

“I will make the arrangements immediately,” Marett said before rushing away, his promise of lunch forgotten. Kael remained, rooted on the spot, with the thick stem of the flower breaking between his fingers. The flowers were bell shaped, white with a red center, like a wound. He burst into tears.

 

Iona approached him and put her dry hands on his shoulders. She smiled for the first time in Kael's memory.

 

“Congratulations, dear winter child. You will have a wedding yet.” She kissed his forehead, making way for the rest of the Council to do the same. The High Councilor, Sebhan, pulled him into a sweaty hug and patted his back. Kael closed his eyes, and he prayed.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3. Aderia I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:
> 
> Mentions of death

**Chapter 3. Aderia I.**

**Tooth Bay, The Jaws, East Sea.**

 

The two-masted chebec ship passed through the Jaws and into Tooth Bay. The sharp rocky reef was so near to the side of the ship that it looked like they could reach out and touch it. Medin was trying, clinging firmly to the railing as he reached out as far as he could, but the rocks remained just outside his reach.

 

The steep points of the teeth were washed smooth by the water, and looked like the browned teeth of some great sea monster. Some teeth were smaller and remained just below the surface of the water. When the tides were lower, the gap in the teeth through which ships could pass through was much narrower. A heavily loaded ship was likely to scrape its hull on the cliffs. Ships going through the gap had to be built for sailing shallow waters. Ryca, who was far more used to ocean travel than either of them, had explained all this to them as they came to approach the gap. She had then excused herself below deck, complaining of a bad headache. She had looked pale, but Aderia sensed knew wasn't the whole truth.

 

“Look!” Medin shouted excitedly, pointing at the water just before them. Aderia peered over the railing which came up to her breasts, getting up on her tiptoes to see better. Barely under the surface she glimpsed the corpses of ships. The masts of some were still sticking up over the surface, like toothpicks stuck between the teeth of the great reef. Ensigns and pennants, beaten and torn by the weathers, waved in the wind. Aderia could make out the eight pointed golden sun of Solfru on a sky blue background, the dual white spires on black of Ishem, the black on red Karusi dragon, and some flags of countries and colonies she couldn't even name. A green one with a blue stripe, which she thought might be Frejan. One that was bone white, but might once have been yellow. Crates and boxes were floating near what must have been a more recent wreck. Several small rowboats bobbed near them, their passengers using long, hooked poles to fish up more valuable flotsam.

 

“Was this where...?” Medin trailed off, glancing toward the door down below deck, through which Ryca had retreated not long ago.

 

_Yes_ , Aderia signed.  _But not in a wreck. A storm_ . She suddenly felt like joining Ryca below deck. She hadn't considered it until then, how she must feel going back this way. Fourteen years had passed, but Aderia knew you didn't really get over this kind of thing easily, if ever.

 

“Will she be okay?” His voice took on a concerned tone. He didn't often show this side of himself to anyone else. It was rare enough that Aderia got to see it. Aderia bobbed her head _yes_ , her bright orange hair bouncing with the motion.

 

_Ryca is strong._ She wouldn't want a stranger seeing her in pain. And though they had been at sea together for just over a week now, Ryca probably didn't trust Medin still. When they were kids, it had taken Aderia several months to find out her friend was a girl!  _And very private._

 

“Go on, then. Go to her. It will only be another hour to port.” The prince turned around, leaning back against the railing. He ran his fingers through his tightly curled hair, picking at it. His Queen mother would nag at him about it, even with Aderia within earshot, saying that he would go bald if he kept stressing his hair. It would turn the tips of his ears red, and he'd keep his hands well away from his head. At least until it had slipped his mind and he started fussing with it again.

 

_But, Medin..._ Aderia's sign for his name was the sign for royalty, for one above her in status. The Solfruan word for regent sounded close enough to his name anyway. She glanced around suspiciously at the people working the deck. Other passengers, the merchant whose ship they had rented passage on, the sailors, even the captain. No one spared them more than a glance, but it didn't ease her mind.

 

“If someone decides to commit regicide on a ship out on open water with barely two handfuls of souls on board, I trust you will be able to find my killer.” Medin grinned, patted Aderia's shoulder – sans pauldrons, they were supposedly undercover after all – and kissed her once on each cheek, right on her freckles. “Now go, my knight-not-in-shining-armor, and rescue your sister.”

 

Aderia stuck her tongue out at him for making fun of her. It wasn't an ill-meant gesture, though. She knew he meant no harm with his jokes.  _You speak too loudly. You are no prince and I am no knight here. Remember. We are just travelers._

 

Medin bowed deeply. “Medin, a painter's apprentice from Sun City, come here to sketch scenes from the royal wedding. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

 

Aderia rolled her eyes.  _Change your name. And you can't paint!_

 

“There are plenty of girls, even some boys now, named Medin in Sun City. And I said I was an apprentice, not a painter.” He seemed to delight in Aderia's frustration. “Go on. Ryca needs you more than I need you right now.”

 

_Fine. Don't distract the sailors. They are trying to bring us to port alive._ Aderia signed with a groan before reluctantly turning her back on the prince, heading under deck. 

 

She found Ryca in their cabin, a nice large one for passengers who could pay well (and if the prince of Solfru couldn't pay well enough, no one in the world could). They even had a wide bed, rather than hammocks. As wide as it was, the three of them had squeezed together to fit. Medin had joked about how lucky he was to share it with two such beautiful women. But Aderia had felt like the truly lucky one, sleeping in the middle between both her best friends.

 

Ryca had laid back on the bed, her robes and skirts and hair fanned out around her. Aderia sat down next to her on the bed, after carefully brushing her long hair aside so she wouldn't pin it. The bed creaked under the weight, and the ship creaked louder around them. Ryca looked pale. Beads of sweat clung to her olive skin, yet what little of her thin arms were visible in the sleeves were covered in goosebumps. She was panting, though she tried to calm her breathing when she saw Aderia approach her. She ended up holding her breath. Aderia took her hand between her own and felt how cold and clammy Ryca's skin was. She stroked her hand gently.

 

“I thought I could do it,” Ryca spoke after a moment of silence. She wasn't crying, but her voice was thick with held back tears. “I thought I could, but I saw those teeth and I...!”

 

Aderia shushed her. She didn't need to hear it to understand. She had heard it all before, whispered over tears after lights out in the orphanage school, once Ryca had finally been moved from the boys' dormitory to the girls'. But Ryca still went on, words tumbling from her painted lips like the water rushing off the cliffs in Sun City.

 

“They told me to go down below, but I wanted to help. We needed all hands on deck or we'd be crushed against the Jaw. We were near safe harbor when we broached and nearly capsized. Half the crew were flushed overboard. We could barely right her again. And just like that was all the storm wanted from us... the winds stilled. The Gods had been given their blood. The teeth around us were painted red with it.” 

 

Aderia didn't know what to say, and Ryca wasn't looking at her anyway. Her eyes were closed and tears ran down her temples into her hair. Aderia gently rested her head on Ryca's flat chest and curled up on the bed with her, as they had done so often as children. She started whistling a melody she had learned in school, a hymn she had always found comforting, with lyrics telling of the mysteries of life and trusting that all happened for a reason . 

 

Ryca cried, and when she had finished crying she pulled her hand out of Aderia's warm grip. Aderia sat up to let her move. Ryca filled her pipe, lighting it off the lantern hanging on the wall by the bed. She inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then sat up on the edge of the bed. She wiped tears from her face with her gloved fingers and gave Aderia a soft smile.  Aderia smiled back at her.

 

“Shouldn't you be guarding your prince?”

 

_ He is busy. Flirting with sailors. _ Aderia signed, and Ryca laughed. The way the corners of her eyes wrinkled up made Aderia so happy she hugged Ryca around the waist. Ryca reached around her and hugged her back, not as tight, but just as heartfelt.

 

“Thank you, sister. We must be through now... I'm okay.” Ryca sounded like she couldn't quite believe she was in fact okay. Her deep raspy voice was even hoarser after crying. “We made it.”

 

They really had made it. Shouts above deck suggested they were about to land in Exile. Aderia stood, and Ryca did too, slower. She leaned on Aderia for support for a moment, swaying from foot to foot. Aderia frowned at her, and Ryca tried her best to look as innocent as she could, while smoking from her pipe.

 

_Eat something. Or you will pass out. We can't do this if you fall over while we're breaking in._

  
Ryca nodded and handed Aderia the pipe to hold onto while she reached into one of her massive pockets and pulled out another pouch of fruit and nuts. Her cloak must weigh a lot, Aderia thought, before remembering that she herself wore a hauberk under her jacket at that very moment, and often wore more armor than that on duty. Ryca nibbled on her small meal as they headed up to the deck.

 

“You know, if we get caught, we'll most likely be sentenced to death.” Ryca said under her breath, though no one seemed to hear or pay attention to them on deck. She took her pipe back after returning the pouch to her pocket.

 

_ We won't get caught.  _ Aderia grinned.

 

“But if we do.”

 

_Then we escape._

 

“But if we can't,” Ryca insisted, with a very serious look in her reddened eyes.

 

_ Then we die.  _ Aderia shrugged. 

 

“As long as you know what is at stake here, Aderia. Just because your prince-”

 

“I am your prince too.” Medin interrupted, having walked up behind them, thankfully without the company of some sailor. He was grinning, yes, but there was something cold in his eyes, something calculated.

 

Aderia let out a sharp whistle to get their attention before signing.  _ Ryca didn't mean it like that. She wouldn't be here if she did _ . Aderia stared up at Medin's face with a stubborn expression.

 

“I am ready for death. I wanted to be sure you two were.” Ryca replied, with a cold tone to mirror the coldness in Medin's eyes. A chill ran up Aderia's spine.

 

_ I am. It is an order from the Queen. I'm sworn to serve. _ Aderia signed. She glanced up at the sky, covered in gray clouds, darker off in the west. No, those weren't clouds, that was smoke. The volcano island of Eld lay out there, she knew, the wretched place that her parents had fled from. There was no sun here, on this side of the Belt, no Sol to turn to.

 

“We won't die. We have Aderia on our side. But if we do... it will be a death for the historians to write about and the bards to sing about.” Medin grinned. He didn't seem the least concerned.

 

Aderia swore to herself to keep him safe, to keep Ryca safe. She took Medin's hand in her right and Ryca's in her left, and together they went down the gangway and into the darkened city of Exile.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4. Medin I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:
> 
> Religion  
> Drug use  
> Violence  
> Dysphoria  
> Periods

**Chapter 4. Medin I.**

**Exile, Ishem.**

 

Blending into the masses in Exile proved not to be a problem at all. Aderia had left all her marked armor in Solfru, and wore simple chain mail under an ordinary tunic. Medin had very reluctantly concealed his golden, four pointed Sol necklace under his clothes and dressed in rougher fabrics than the finely embroidered silk he was accustomed to. He couldn't stop scratching his neck, where the wool made his skin itch. As for Ryca, she was no one of importance. Her choice of clothing was irrelevant, so she changed nothing.   
  
It helped that Medin had never been to Ishem at all – his mother had gone many times for diplomatic purposes, but as a rule, other countries sent their diplomats and politicians to Solfru for meeting and petitions and negotiations. The greatest power could call the shots, after all. So Medin's face was not widely recognized, and though people could definitely tell they were Solfruan, scoffing at them and muttering things in Ishemish, no one stopped them or caused much trouble.  
  
The sprawling, dense city was packed with visitors. People had come from all over Ishem to witness the wedding and receive the blessing of Is. There were other visitors too, Is worshipers from throughout the world. Also there were traders, dignitaries and historians. Medin's mother and sister had not received any invitation to the wedding. Relations between the neighboring countries had been turning sourer and sourer after some time of neutrality, and such an act of disrespect would likely have been punished with further trade embargoes. But he supposed his mom thought this plan would be punishment enough, even if punishment wasn't the purpose of it.  
  
They had managed to get the last room in an inn near to the Spires. It was just a cramped closet with a single mattress, but it was better than sleeping on the cobbled streets. From outside the soot stained wood-and-stone building you could see the two curved spires towering high into the ashen skies.   
  
Medin had had the story told to him over and over. About Is, the cruel god of the Ishemish people, demanding human sacrifices. About the tithe throne in the Spires. About the riots that took place whenever the weather was bad or the winters were colder than usual. The Ishemish seemed more superstitious even than Aderia's friend.  
  
He glanced over at Ryca as they circled around to the front of the massive building, a castle and temple in one. She was walking off to the side, glancing at the people surrounding them, at buildings, up at the sky. She was clutching the necklace at her throat, the wooden medallion engraved with the symbol of her god. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the disc of wood that they covered the eye entirely.   
  
“He can't even see when you do that,” Medin had to point out. It wasn't that he didn't believe in other gods, or that he had anything against people who did. But what use was a god who saw everything, but did nothing?   
  
“Excuse me?” Ryca looked confused. She was an intimidatingly tall woman with high cheekbones, large sensitive eyes and gentle, perfectly shaped lips. Even her nose, though it was a little too sharp and small for Medin's tastes, was cute. If she had seemed even remotely interested, Medin might have propositioned her. But she didn't look at him like he was anything special at all, which was quite the turn-off. Not to mention Aderia would probably hit him if he got together with her 'sister'. It would make their journey quite awkward.  
  
“Your necklace. You're blinding him.”  
  
“It is not a he,” Ryca corrected before she let go of it. “It doesn't have a gender. It just is.” She tucked her hand in her pocket instead before looking away. She was keeping an eye on Aderia now, who was moving off ahead of them, zeroing in on a flower shop. Aderia had tucked her fluffy hair into a knitted cap she had picked up in a market stall – she had gotten them all warm clothes, as the weather was getting colder on this side of the Belt. She was to blame for Medin's current, wool-related suffering. She seemed interested in the flowers – oh, no. Medin saw the man working the stall then. He was just her type. Tall, muscled, great smile, a scruffy beard...  
  
“Aderia has helped me often.” Medin changed the subject to a less inflamed one. To something they had in common. One of few things, it seemed, they had in common. “I suppose she has told you that.”  
  
“She tells me most things,” Ryca replied calmly. Something about her tone, her coolness, was setting Medin off. He was trying to open up to her, trying to be nice. But he wasn't winning her over yet. He felt frustrated, ready to give up on kindness entirely, until Ryca took his arm and gave him a more genuine smile. “My belated congratulations, by the way. On becoming prince. It must have been stressful.”   
  
He was taken back for a moment before nodding. Perhaps he still had a chance here. “It was. Thank you. My mother didn't understand at first. Luckily, my little sister is a far better crown princess than I ever was.” Medin laughed, but he didn't feel all that happy. He stopped walking. They were right by the stairs up to the Spires, and the crowd here was far too thick and loud to keep meandering.  
  
Ryca squeezed his arm and he looked up at her. She had a joking smile on her narrow face. “Perhaps so. But I am certain you are a better and more dashing prince than Her Highness Midsommar would ever be.” She let go of him to light her pipe. After a drag on it, she handed it to him without him asking. Medin grinned at her.  
  
“You're probably right. My sister will make a great queen. But she doesn't know how to have fun.” He inhaled deeply. The smoke of the burning herbs was cloying and spicy. It made his eyes water, and his mind become clear. It made time slow around him. It made his breathing even out. He understood why Ryca loved it so.  
  
“Or she has fun in other ways than you. Ones less likely to make her pregnant. Or sick.” Ryca replied, and Medin could see where Aderia got her sometimes so scathing sense of humor from. He wanted to feel offended, but it was such a brave statement directed at a prince, that he simply laughed.  
  
“But that's not a problem for you.”   
  
“No,” Ryca's smile disappeared, and she took her pipe back. “I have other problems. _And_ I'm not interested.” She filled her lungs with smoke and exhaled slowly.   
  
He looked away again, following Aderia with his eyes. She was signing at the flower shop man, and he signed back. Medin hadn't known that the same sign language was used in both Solfru and Ishem.  
  
“Well. It takes all sorts, I suppose.” Medin replied, trying not to sound disappointed. He had lost. That was a definite rejection. He accepted it and moved on. He had been doing so well, too. She had even been joking around with him.   
  
Aderia caught up to them, and she was winded, like she'd been running though she had only stood there talking. She whistled, just barely making herself heard over the murmur and noise around them. People were pressing in on them, on the Spires, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prince, though the wedding was in another two days.  
  
 _Domra says we missed the speech,_ Aderia signed. She signed his name with the gestures for _'flower boy',_ but then spelled it out letter for letter, too. _The prince held an announcement a few hours ago. The throne room will be open tomorrow for well-wishes and gifts_.   
  
That would be their chance to get into the castle before the ceremony. Medin grinned and petted her head. “Well done, fair knight. Let's get back to the inn. We need to make a plan.”

 

-

 

The three gathered over a meal (grilled goat for Medin, corn bread filled with beans, rice and spices for Aderia, and nuts and fruit for Ryca) in their cramped, dusty room. They sat on the bed, as there was nowhere else to sit, and began formulating a more specific plan than the very vague one they had had before (get in, grab the prince, run).  
  
The new plan wasn't that much more elaborate. They would enter the castle with gifts, and find a way to hide until the crowds dispersed. Then it was simply a matter of finding the prince alone.   
  
"It's customary for the candidate to meditate before Is in preparation for the wedding", Ryca said.  
  
 _So we just hide away in the throne room_ , Aderia signed, her cheeks dimpled by her excited smile.   
  
"And talk him into coming along", Medin said. That part should be easy. He knew he was very charming, even if Ryca couldn't see that.  
  
"And if that fails?" Ryca sighed. "If he alerts the guards instead of succumbing to your princely smile?"  
  
Aderia covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, but Medin merely smiled. "Then you better think of something. Whatever's in that pipe of yours should be effective."  
  
Next came the tricky part. Get out with the prince, and escape the city before anyone noticed. After almost an hour of arguing back and forth over which would be the best method of getting away, or the best backup plan if they couldn't.  
  
 _The gates will be locked if they find out what we've done_ , Aderia signed gravely. _We'll need to move fast and know where we're going._  
  
"Oh, who cares!" Medin was bored. He pushed their crudely drawn city map full of scribbles off the bed and stretched out on it. “Enough planning. It ruins the adventure. You know what we need? A good night's sleep. I don't understand how anyone can sleep well on a ship. Rolling back and forth...” He demonstrated by rolling from side to side in the bed, ending up in Aderia's soft, thick lap first, and Ryca's hard, bony lap second.   
  
Ryca rolled him back down to the middle of the bed. “Normally, you would sleep in a hammock on a ship like that. But you insisted we get a bed.”  
  
“And now I insist I sleep in the middle this time. Cuddle up close now. That's a royal decree.”   
  
Aderia laughed and did so without hesitation, squeezing in close to him. She was warm and soft and smelled of spices and fire and home. Ryca let out a long sigh but finally did so too, after taking off her cloak and hanging it up on a hook on the wall. It barely made a difference. Underneath it she wore a dress the same dark color, just as long and featureless. She wasn't as warm or soft as Aderia, and she smelled of incense and smoke. A different, somniferous kind of calming. Medin slept.

 

-

 

_Golden chains were heavy and wrapped around him so tightly he could barely breathe, much less move. His arms were trapped against his body and his legs were tied together. He struggled and nearly lost his balance. The harsh links of the chains dug into his flesh. He bruised and bled. Above him rose the light stone steps up to Brightcastle's gates, and at the top, too far up to see but he knew they were there, stood his Queen mother and his sister. They wore their gold like gowns and crowns, with dignity and power. Next to them stood Aderia, and she wore hers in her armor and brilliant hair. Medin was blinded by their brilliance. His own gold chains were suffocating him, wrapping tighter around his throat. He was naked underneath them, bared for the world to see. All of the city pressed in on him, commoners and nobles and scholars alike. They didn't see him there, struggling to keep standing, to break free of the snaking metal links._

 

_He screamed to them, and to his family on top of the steps. The crowd heard him. They stopped in their tracks, thousands and thousands of eyeless faces turning on him like one. They saw him. No, they saw his gold chains and his naked body, and they dove in to claw at them both. Hands tore at the chains, though they wouldn't break, only tighten more. Hands tore at his skin, and it broke open. He only screamed louder, until he couldn't scream anymore. He had no air in his lungs or blood in his brain and he knew he must be dying and still no one was helping him. Hands groped at his flesh where it was exposed. They cupped his breasts, tried to go between his tightly shut legs. He fell to the ground and for a moment he could see the sky. The normally so brilliant blue Sun City sky was darkened by smoke and storm clouds. Then he could see nothing, as the mob closed in._

 

-

 

Medin sat up with a gasp. The dream didn't usually end like that. Never with the crowd attacking, never with the sky turning dark. He felt sick to his stomach, a stab of pain right where he usually felt it every month. He had known it was coming soon and prepared, padding his underwear and brought willow bark to treat the pain. He had tried many times to get the court physician to do something about the parts inside him he neither wanted nor needed. He suspected his mother was behind the normally so knowledgeable man's sudden claim at ignorance. Perhaps she hoped he would change his mind at some point, and give her grandchildren and further confuse the order of succession. Whatever the reason for the physician's refusal, he remained fertile, and suffering each moon.

 

Next to him, Aderia snored softly. His mouth was dry and his eyes wide open as he dragged air into his lungs with hoarse gulps. The morning light that filtered in through cracks in the walls of their room was cold and sharp in his eyes. On his other side, Ryca sat up against the headboard. She was looking at him. He knew he hadn't screamed in his sleep, or Aderia would have woken up and fussed over him. But he must have been tossing and turning, at least. His skin was slick with bitter sweat, and he felt the chill of the room sink into his body as his damp clothes cooled fast. Curse Ishem and its cold autumns and shitty, drafty inns.

 

_You didn't scream_ , she confirmed with sign language rather than words, to not wake Aderia.

 

_You could have woken me_ , he signed back, annoyed. He pulled their blankets closer to his body as his teeth clattered.

 

_And risk you lashing out. Don't touch dreamers. You can't know what they are dreaming of_ , Ryca replied coolly. There were dark circles under her eyes. Medin could only just make them out as the room grew lighter with the rising sun outside.

 

_Why are you awake?_ He asked, changing the subject. Perhaps she had nightmares, too. It sounded like she knew a lot about them.

 

_I didn't go to sleep_ , was her response.

 

_In my bag over there. Willow bark_ , he signed jerkily when another sharp stab of pain made him feel like he might throw up. He squeezed his legs together. If he bled on the mattress, he was sure the innkeeper would scam them out of even more money. Not that he lacked the gold, but he didn't want to spend it on this place.

 

Ryca didn't comment on his request or the rudeness of it, and he felt grateful. She got out of bed nimbly and opened the leather backpack Medin had brought, with changes of clothes and provision inside. She found the cut bark wrapped in leather and handed it to him. He opened the wrap and took out a piece, putting it in his mouth and chewing on it.

 

_I have stronger things than that in my coat_ , Ryca signed, as Aderia began stirring when a beam of sunlight hit her face.  _But it would make you sleep._

 

“I don't have time for more sleep today.” He slipped into speaking in a low voice, when Aderia sat up, awake. He needed his hand to rub his abdomen, hoping the pain would ease. He felt swollen and unhappy. “But if you have anything that will make me barren and stop the blood, I will have that.”

 

“With side effects, yes.” Ryca smiled sadly.

 

“What side effects?” Medin was interested, ready to weigh the pros and cons.

 

“Lasting pain, vomiting blood, and a slow and painful death.” Ryca replied. Medin quickly reconsidered and resigned himself to the pain, bloating, mood changes, and stained clothing.

 

Aderia rolled over with a groan and reached for the parcel of bark in Medin's lap. She grabbed two strips of it and stuffed into her mouth. Medin glanced over at her with a sigh, understanding how she felt. If they had been at home, this would be the time when they would order up extra food from the kitchens, and stay in his room for as much as they could. The castle servants didn't complain about washing blood from the sheets, or demand extra gold for the task.

 

“Ah. Of course you would synchronize,” Ryca shook her head. Medin thought she sounded almost jealous. She stretched, and her yawn barely drowned out the cracks, pops and groans her body let out. She pulled on her coat and stepped into her tall boots. “But if we are to follow the plan, we must get going soon.”

 

Aderia signed something very rude at her, before burying her face in the pillow and going back to sleep.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5. Ryca II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 contains:
> 
> Violence to flowers

**Chapter 5. Ryca II.**

**Central Market, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Ryca didn't envy her two companions for their plight, but she did for their closeness. The moon blood was yet another thing that Medin had in common with Aderia that Ryca could never have. To her, there was something almost adorable about how they walked about together, looking equally grumpy and unhappy until the willow bark eased their symptoms.

 

They had a slow start, and the city was teeming with visitors and locals, loud and rowdy and eager. Markets and streets alike were cluttered with people and temporary stalls, selling souvenirs and food and trinkets for the prince. The wares were massively overpriced, yet Ryca saw people flock to them. There were coins cut in the shape of the Spires, with the year engraved and the name of the prince. There were medallions and charms and leather pouches and poorly bound books. If Ryca was the prince, she would be insulted if someone gave her such a gift.

 

“We need to get something extravagant,” Medin said, looking around at the stalls and wares offered on the way to the castle, proving that the plan was just as poorly thought out as she had suspected. They could have brought a gift from Solfru, rather than waste their time here and risk ending up so far back in line to the Spires that they would not even get in today.

 

“Why? I would think it would be better if we weren't noticed and remembered.” Ryca countered. The three stepped out of the way and tried to look inconspicuous as several city guards, in rusted steel mail and pauldrons, thundered past them to shut down an illegal food stall. They had already seen several similar events, where open flames were put out by angry guards in steel boots, the stall owner arrested for endangering the city, built nearly entirely from wood.

 

Someone pushed by them from behind, shoving Aderia aside. She shoved him back, growling loudly. When the man turned and started yelling at her in Ishemish, she gripped her sword and bared an inch of gleaming steel at him. He paled and rushed off. She sighed and turned to the others.  _This city is so gray. I haven't seen a single fruit stall, and barely any jewelry or fine stones. No oranges, no rare tamed animals or fine clothing. All gray, and brown, and dull._

 

It was true. Even the market on Dim wasn't this poor. They saw the same things over and over here. Plain woven clothes, lightly dyed when they were dyed at all. Some furs. Plain jewelry in carved wood or leather or shaped metal, but no precious stones. Food stalls with graying meat and dully scaled freshwater fish. Produce stalls with turnips and potatoes and onions and apples and pears, but no oranges or pineapples or starfruit or grapes, and hardly any nuts. There was mead and bread, but no pastries, nothing sugared or pretty-looking. Ryca knew Ishem was poorer than Solfru, and that its climate was much different, but it was supposed to be a fertile land. They must not get much trade anymore.

 

“How about flowers?” She asked Aderia, nudging her meaningfully. They were nearing the main stairs up to the Spires' entrance, and that was near to the flower shop. The hidden mischief in her soft smile nearly outshone the teasing glint in Medin's eyes when he nudged Aderia too.

 

“Yes! Flowers. Go see if flower boy has any left,” he grinned. Aderia's face turned red and she nodded before hurrying off.

 

Ryca and Medin remained nearby, watching the line snake up the stairs. People from all over, expecting a blessing from Is, or wanting to take a look at the prince, who had made so few public appearances. Once the wedding was over, he would make none.

 

Some people were holding simple gifts Ryca had seen over and over again in the market already. Some had more imaginative items. She saw a few vases, what looked like it may be a jar of honey, a finely made Tuésh style doll carried by a woman who must have come all the way from Tué herself. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. Despite spending such a large part of her life in Sun City, Ryca hadn't seen such amazing human diversity since she traveled the world with her parents. Perhaps the city of Exile was gray and cold and poor on its own, but the wedding had brought some color and life into it.

 

Aderia joined them again with a single, half-wilted flower. Medin raised his perfectly plucked eyebrows.

 

_It was all he had left that looked decent_ , Aderia signed with her free hand. The white-and-pink flower slouched in her hand. It looked like some of the bells had dropped off, others were browning. Its stem was red and thick. 

 

Ryca held out her hand, and Aderia gave it to her gently. She turned it over in her hand, inspecting it. “Here's something stronger than willow bark.”

 

“What? A rhubarb flower?” Medin didn't look convinced. She supposed he had no reason to know what it was. Although it would have done him good to do some research on winter wedding traditions, Ryca took it upon herself to educate him.

 

“It's a Bergenia. It grows high in the mountains, in the Ishem basin. We wouldn't get this in Solfru. It's too warm there. Because of the beautiful flowers and the leaves that turn red in the winter, it symbolizes love and life, surviving the coldest of winters. And they are a traditional flower of the Ishemish winter weddings. When prepared properly, it treats pain and illnesses.”

 

_So it's perfect_ , Aderia beamed proudly. 

 

“Yep. Perfect. Good girl.” Medin patted the beaming Aderia on the head as a way of praise. It turned Ryca's stomach and she looked away quickly. She broke into a cold sweat. She brushed past them to join the line going up the stone stairs so she wouldn't have to see it.

 

The line clung to the right hand side of the staircase, with people leaving descending the other side. It became even more obvious how poorly thought out the plan was. What if they were sent in one by one? What if they were guarded closely as they left? She glanced back at Medin, feeling frustrated. She may be willing to put her life on the line for Aderia, but not for him and his foolish plans.

 

She kept her silence, though. The shadows around them grew longer. She couldn't see the sun directly, the air was full of smoke and the sky was lightly clouded, but it must be nearing evening. They climbed five or six steps at a time, then waited for a long time before they could step further up. At long last, as the houses down around the market place started lighting candles in the windows and lanterns above the doors, they were at the gates of the Spires. There were four people ahead of them.

 

“Next fourteen people will be the last!” a brusque rust-armored guard yelled in Ishemish. Ryca nodded to Medin and Aderia, and they moved inside fast. People started crying out in disbelief and disappointment behind them, rushing at the gates to get inside before they shut. The brusque woman called for the other guards to keep the rush of people out and close the entrance gate.

 

They didn't need to say anything to each other. In the commotion of the crowd trying to break in to see the prince, and the throne guards rushing to close the gates behind the last well-wishers and gift-givers, Ryca, Aderia and Medin dodged out of the way. They ran in through a side door just inside the gates, into the servant passages. On the marble floor of the throne room, a wilted Bergenia remained to be trampled by running boots.

 

Behind the scenes, the Spires proved strangely barren, as poor and worn as the city outside. Ryca had expected some splendor reserved for the temple-castle, home of the god Is and those who may soothe his wrath. It was also the home of the Winter Council, the political and financial leaders of the land. But while the short glimpse they had gotten of the throne room had been impressive, and with the large amount of guards stationed outside the Spires, there was no one back here. The corridor they had hidden down was dusty and filled with cobwebs. Spiders and centipedes scurried out of the way under their feet. There were cracks in the walls. A lone fat cat, probably the only well-fed thing in this land, hissed at them, before rushing off after a rat.

 

Ryca had expected there to be a problem hiding from the servants, but there were none. They found a servants' quarters and hid there. It held six rickety beds, all of them perfectly made but with moth-eaten blankets. Ryca looked closer, and found one covered in mouse droppings. The candle holders were all empty but two, the chamber pot cracked. No one had used this room in a long time.

 

_It's a ghost castle_ , Aderia signed, her eyes wide. Her hand barely left the hilt of her sword to make the gestures, and once she had finished it flitted back to it, gripping it tightly. A dagger would have served her better in these close quarters. Ryca had a hand on her own dagger, hidden in her sleeve.

 

_Mom said Ishem was running out of money. I didn't think it extended to the prince, too._ Medin signed since they were trying to hide. From what she had heard, Ryca was surprised he had paid enough attention to anything the Queen told him to remember such a thing.

 

_The last winters have been harsh here_ , Ryca replied. 

 

_I know_ , Medin sighed as if he remembered the saddest thing.  _Last winter we ran out of frostberries for a month._

 

Ryca found it very hard not to roll her eyes at him.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6: Kael II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 contains:
> 
> Forced marriage  
> PTSD  
> Descriptions of violence  
> Abuse/neglect  
> Alcohol/drug use

**Chapter 6. Kael II.**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

His eyes felt like they were full of sand, and he had no feeling in his butt or legs since at least an hour back. He was chilled to the bone and bored half to death. The throne was very uncomfortable to sit on. It was only Marett standing by his side that kept him sane, touching his hand or shoulder now and then, adjusting his clothing or his hair in between waves of people being called in to hand over their gifts. Flowers, flowers, so many flowers. Trinkets, dolls, embroideries. Some things more imaginative; the lock of hair from a first born child, or a box of sand from a faraway beach, or a rare and colorful bug preserved in a chunk of amber.

 

He accepted all gifts and repeated the phrase he had been taught, with Marett or the greasy High Councilor Sebhan translating it into other main languages for foreign visitors. Marett knew Armasi, Sebhan knew Frejan and Karusi and many other languages.

 

“I thank you for your offering. I will keep you and yours in my thoughts as I go to my marriage bed. May your winters be warm, and your harvests plentiful.” The words became as repetitive as they felt hollow. And yet, they were drilling into his mind each time he repeated them. He was to be wed. He had been chosen. It would soon be finalized, before the land, before all people, before Is himself.

 

It was rude to yawn and he was careful not to. Yet he always yawned when he was nervous. He had also slept poorer than usual ever since that crow dropped a white and red flower at his feet, setting off this entire frenzy. One yawn struggled its way out past his lips. He couldn't see the face of the woman at the foot of the throne, she was too blurry, but he assumed she looked offended. Marett pinched the back of his hand, and Kael was quick to apologize. He gave some pretty excuse about praying all day and night for a joyous wedding and for the blessing of Is. It must have eased the woman's mind, because she curtsied and blessed him back, before being guided back out through the door next to the one she had entered.

 

They had not stopped to take any meals and already a servant was rushing about lighting the lanterns hung along the stone pillars around the throne room. The sky outside was growing darker, the room colder. He shuddered. He was clad in only a thin summer gown, light green in color and embroidered with flowers. It bared his stump, and though he had begged Marett to at least wrap it to hide the gnarled scar where his right arm had been taken off, Marett had shook his head. It wasn't traditional, and the council would be upset. But now, whether or not it was traditional, Marett shrugged out of his gray council cloak and draped it over Kael's shoulders, clasping it at the front to at least keep his bare arm and stump protected from the evening chill. The cloak smelled of him, and Kael found the strength to keep going through the last well-wishers and gift-givers.

 

Finally, Marett leaned down to whisper in Kael's ear. “The next group will be the last. You look like you may faint soon.”

 

Kael nodded. “Thank you.” He whispered back and followed Marett with his eyes as he strode across the throne room to speak to the guard at the door. Then Kael's attention was pulled back to the next visitor, yet another bouquet of Bergenias. He smiled until his cheeks hurt and said his thanks and his bless yous, and then the guard at the door cried for the last fourteen people.

 

He felt the shift in attitude before he heard the shouts at the door. Kael's heart hammered against his rib cage and his blood ran cold. The crowd outside was trying to force their way in, guards were coming to meet them in the door. One guard fell over and was trampled as several people broke through. Steel glinted, there were shrieks and cries and _blood on the white marble floor. Kael stumbled to the throne, too panicked to realize he could not save the prince, could not free him from the chains with his bare hands. His right arm exploded in pain as what must have been a hammer shattered it, trying to break the chains, but failing as Kael had. He saw the previous prince, a man grown but with the mind of a child, being dragged kicking and screaming from the throne, choking when the chain pulled taut and the mob still tugged on him. He saw his guts spill onto the floor, the stone floor as white as snow turning red. He saw and heard his friends, other children he had spent years sharing laughs and stories with, cut down like slaughtered dogs. He thought he saw Marett running toward him, but that didn't make sense, Marett hadn't been here at this time..._

 

When he came to, he was shaking on the floor. He was on his knees, hunched over and supporting himself on one arm over a puddle of vomit. He wasn't sure where reality ended and the hallucination began, but it had felt so disgustingly real. He still imagined he could smell the blood and feces as his predecessor's gut had been sliced open. Marett was there, holding his hair back.

 

“I am here, Kael. You are safe. They were forced out. The gates are barred, but the crowd has already settled down. They are leaving.” He sounded tired and annoyed even as he tried to be sympathetic. The tears pricking at Kael's eyes had only little to do with throwing up.

 

“I thought...” Kael started, but then he was gagging again and started coughing. Marett stroked his back, and someone else – it must have been Sebhan – thrust a goblet against his lips and made him drink. He choked but swallowed as fast as he could. It burned its way down. He had expected water, but it was wine. He wanted to hurl again, but he didn't. When the goblet was empty, Sebhan pulled it away from him. Kael sat up with the help of Marett, leaning his back against the throne.

 

“I thought I was back there. I saw blood... and I just remembered. I'm sorry.” He had been certain this was his time. That he would die, be disposed of before he was even married. That the people disliked him so much. Maybe because he had yawned at that woman. Maybe because he was a dimwitted cripple. Or maybe it was Is' revenge, knowing that Kael doubted... that he wasn't as faithful as he wished he could be.

 

“I'm hurt,” Marett said, and Kael felt his heart drop. “That you distrust me so much. I would never let harm come to you, my prince. You are like a son to me. And even if you weren't, I am devoted to Is. I must keep you safe.” His voice was warm and felt like home, but his words only made Kael feel heavier.

 

“I'm sorry,” Kael repeated. Marett took his hand between his own and held it. A servant, the same one who lit the torches, Kael assumed, rushed forward with a bowed head and wiped the vomit from the floor. Kael apologized to her too, and she only nodded with a fearful look in her eyes before hurrying away.

 

“If the child means to ruin the ceremony with such fits, he will need to be further sedated,” said the slimy councilman. His chins quivered. The fire from the torches shone off his bald spot. Kael looked away from him and to Marett instead. Marett sighed and kissed Kael on top of the head as if he was small child, and not nearly a man grown, about to be wed in four days.

 

“It may be for the best, Kael.” He agreed.

 

“Yes,” Kael agreed in a small, tired voice. “Maybe that is for the best.”

 

“Good boy.” Marett smiled proudly. It warmed Kael more than the wine, and the something-more-than-wine slipped into it. He was lifted back onto the hard stone throne, and Marett brushed his hair back. “I will return with something small to eat. After that you must fast. I know you understand. You are smart.”

 

Kael nodded. He was smart. He wanted Marett to think he was smart. His stomach growled, but he understood. This was about sacrifice. About doing what was best for the land. For the people of the land. To make sure they could live on as they did. To soothe the wrath of winter.

 

Marett and Sebhan left together, discussing the wedding further and how to ensure no further breakdowns. Kael was left alone with the cold statue of Is, and his own wine-dulled thoughts. He rose from the throne after a moment, sliding down onto the cold floor. His bare feet were numbed already, so he barely minded. He wrapped Marett's cloak closer around himself and pulled the hood up. It was made of wool, thick and warm and a little bit scratchy. He rubbed it against his cheek and inhaled deeply. It smelled of sweat and spice and the sweet rum from Armas that Marett liked so.

 

He padded up silently to the statue of Is at the back of the throne room. It wasn't easy with only one hand and his balance upset by having a goblet of spiked wine on an empty stomach, but he climbed. From Is' knee and up his wrist, he climbed up into the palm of his hand. It felt colder still than the stone of the tithe throne's seat, but smoother. If Kael hadn't known the statue was made from crystal, he would have guessed it truly was ice, mysteriously unable to melt.

 

He lay down on his back, suspended in the air by the hand of the god. He squinted up into the darkness and tried to make out Is' face. Did he look down at him with acceptance, or fondness, or distaste? Did he watch him with hunger? Was he simply not watching at all?

 

Kael rolled over and pressed his face to the crystal and closed his eyes. He just wanted an answer... any answer, to prove that Is was there. That he knew Kael. That he heard him, saw him. If Is existed... no, Is must exist. He simply must. But if he didn't... Kael's mind ran around in circles, chasing their own tail, until he finally drifted off.

 

 _Marett is coming to bring me food_ , was his first thought when he awoke. He felt cold and sore all over, and he blamed the wine. But the smell of cooking had brought him out of his stupor. He opened his eyes.

 

He was no longer in the throne room, no, not even in the Spires. Above him was an unfamiliar ceiling, and around him were complete strangers. One of them thrust a spit of grilled meat toward him. Kael screamed at the top of his lungs.

 

A large hand covered his mouth, and he bit down on it. He heard a sharp, pained gasp behind him. Something hard collided with his already throbbing head, and everything exploded in white before fading to black.

 

“Shit, Aderia, don't you think you hit him a bit too hard...?” he heard a voice say in an accent he could barely make out, just before everything went dark and quiet.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7: Medin II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 contains:
> 
> Violence  
> Death

**Chapter 7. Medin II.**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

He could hardly believe their luck. As they made their way to the throne room once the castle was dark and quiet... well, more dark and quiet than before, not only was the prince there, but he was alone. Guards, with buckled and worn armor, were stationed at the entrances leading to the throne room but not, it seemed, the inside of the room itself. Ryca gestured something about how the room was holy and how this was an important and private time for the prince. Medin was sure the Winter Council was just being cheap in cutting down on security.

 

It was a chilling sight in the icy room. They had only been able to catch a quick glimpse of the prince when they made it into the throne room before having to hide away. He looked so small and cold, curled up in a gray wool coat that was far too large for him, on the giant crystal hand of a god statue. His slow breaths misted in the night.

 

These Ishemish were mad, for having a room like this with great tall windows overhead open to the elements, and with no heating. Medin wished he had thought to wear more layers before leaving the inn. He also wished he had thought ahead for masks. The moth eaten linens from the servants' room smelled dusty and he felt like he would sneeze each time he inhaled. They had taken the pillow cases off the pillows and sliced holes for their eyes, wearing the coarse linens like executioner hoods.

 

_What now?_ Medin signed to the others, all looking quite menacing. Their planning had never quite gotten to this point. How would they have anticipated that the prince would have chosen to fall asleep ten feet in the air? 

 

_I'll get him. Keep an eye out. Be ready to catch him if he wakes up_ , Aderia signed back, taking off her sword and shield, bracers and pauldrons. She wrestled her chain mail over her head too, and sat it all down gently and nearly soundlessly on the marble floor. Medin strapped her sword around his own hips and shouldered her shield. If they had to run, he knew she'd hate him if he left them behind.

 

Ryca was on lookout, paying close attention to the doorways and windows above for any movement or sound while Aderia climbed. She was thick and heavy, but she was strong and nimble - unlike his Queen mother, who had a similar shape, but was far less agile. Of course, Aderia trained every day, a habit she and Medin had kept up as well as they could even on their journey. Aderia reached the hand of Is with no issue. She clasped her hand over the prince's mouth, but he didn't stir.

 

_Drunk_ , Aderia signed down to them with her free hand. Medin squinted into the dimness to make it out.

 

This was already too easy. Medin felt the grin creep to his face. Clearly, this was what he was meant for. He was meant to succeed here. Sol was with them even in this dark, dreary land. That's when Ryca rushed up to him. He heard it just after she had: footsteps, echoing closer. He signed frantically at Aderia, not even bothering to make real words, just shaking his hands at her.

 

She slung the passed out prince over her shoulder and jumped down to the floor. The jolt made the Ishemish prince groan and stir, but he didn't wake. The wind picked up outside, howling through the open windows just below the peaked Spire of the roof.

 

Ryca scrambled to pick up Aderia's armor off the floor, shaking a little under the weight. The three hurried into the shadows behind a pillar, near to another side door into the servants' corridors. A door handle was turned across the throne room, and warm firelight spilled in. The hinges creaked as the heavy wood door opened.

 

The steps continued into the throne room. Medin smelled food – meat, he thought, and mushrooms, and cooked wine. He dared peak out, and saw the man he had glimpsed at the prince's right side for a split second before they ducked into a side passage. He was a tall, broad man with tanned skin, a more ruddy tone than Ryca's. His head was shaven but for a long, copper red lock of hair falling down to conceal part of his face. His nose was long and crooked, and even under the man's clothes, he could see bulging muscle. He was moving with the composure and discipline of a soldier, carrying two steaming bowls of food.

 

“Kael?” The man called, in a thick, gravelly accent. Medin already found the Ishemish language, for all its similarities with Solfruan, strange and grating on his ears. This man's accent was worse still, and he could barely decipher his words at all. “I brought dinner.”

 

Medin clasped a hand over their captive's mouth, making sure he couldn't make a sound if he did wake up and hear the man call for him. He followed the scarred man with his eyes, watching him go up to the throne, then look around the statue at the back of the room, where Kael had rested only moments ago. Medin's heart stopped beating and he forgot how to breathe. The man would realize the prince was gone and sound the alarms, and they would be caught red handed.

 

Finding no one, the man muttered something Medin couldn't make out before leaving the room through the door he had entered. Like one body, the three relaxed. A quick look at one another, and they rushed for the servants' entrance they had gone through. There had to be a way out of the Spires for servants too, running errands to the city, or taking out refuse and chamber pots to be emptied. There should be fewer guards there. Apparently,there were almost no servants, either. Such a grand castle, splendid on the outside, but in such a state of disrepair on the inside. It made him sad, though it worked in their favor.

 

He took the front, with Aderia and the lightly snoring prince slung over her shoulder in the middle, and Ryca bringing up the rear. She had her arms full of armor and it slowed her down. They ended up regrouping in the bedroom, dropping the prince on one of the beds. Aderia reattached her armor and retrieved her shield and sword from Medin's custody.

 

They took the time to rip up another pillowcase and bind the prince's eyes and mouth, in case he would wake up on their way out. Medin wrapped the cloak the pale prince wore around him like a sleeping bag (or like a burial shroud), and they tied it together with straps of linen.

 

_Is this necessary?_ Ryca signed, after lighting a candle so they could see better.  _I thought your mother only wanted to speak to him._

 

_Yes. He might not understand or want to speak to her._ Medin signed back.  _So until we can convince him, we have to make sure he doesn't get us caught._ He could see Ryca still wasn't pleased, but she nodded her assent, then looked away. 

 

If she wanted to pretend like she was doing nothing wrong, Medin was fine with that. She had agreed to come. She had sworn her life to it, just like the rest of them. If she was getting squeamish now, that was her problem. This was for the greater good. His mother had said as much.

  
Aderia said nothing. She wasn't doubting him like Ryca was. Medin felt grateful to her for it. Especially now that they were getting to the truly difficult part.

 

They decided to head out together. If they were to get caught, they would get caught as one. Ryca had argued for one of them scouting out an exit and the others remaining behind, but Aderia hadn't wanted her to go on her own, and Medin thought they had a better chance of taking on anyone finding them if they stuck together. Two to one, and with Medin's vote weighing more than the other two combined, they sneaked out of the servants' room together.

 

Ryca lead the way this time, creeping silently with a candle holder in one hand and a dagger in the other. Medin had taken to carrying the prince – marveling at how little he weighed and how lightly he breathed – while Aderia trudged along behind them, hand on the hilt of her blade.

 

The roaring of the wind outside was picking up. The harvest festival would have already passed back in Solfru, so it was technically considered winter there already. But they never had winter weather such as this at home. The screeching wind had its advantages, though. It would mask the sound of their steps. It would also mask the sound of anyone else's steps.

 

Ryca halted them with a wave of her dagger. “I felt a breeze,” she whispered.

 

They continued towards the draft. Unlike the ramshackle inn, the Spires were built in stone and should not be drafty, even here in the poorly maintained, snaking hallways and steep stairwells hidden within its walls. It grew colder around them, and their breath misted as it had in the throne room. They must nearly be outside.

 

“Who's there?” A shaky, light voice asked behind them.

 

They all whirled around, making out the pale, unwashed face of a girl in the hallway behind them. Her shoes were too large and worn, and her dress was patched up from a similar fabric as the linen they wore over their heads. She opened her mouth to scream. Medin didn't have time to react at all before Aderia cut her down. The blade was driven with great force clean through the child's chest, but not before she managed to let out a chirping cry of fear. Aderia yanked her blade free. The child fell lifelessly to the stone floor with a haunting thud. Aderia's eyes were filled with terror as she looked at Medin. They all broke into a run, heading for the exit that must, must be there.

 

The stone passages were winding and narrow, but it was definitely getting colder. There was a consistent banging sound, getting louder and louder, closer and closer. Like war drums or heavy, armored footfalls. They didn't have the luxury of hesitation anymore and pressed on. Aderia's blade was already bloodied, and Ryca had a look of cold determination on her pretty face that showed she was ready to bloody her steel too, if it came to it. A colder draft rushed over them and blew the candle out, plunging them into darkness. Ryca tossed the holder to the floor, useless as it was now. Instead she felt the walls with her free hand as she ran blindly before them, making sure they didn't run into anything.

 

They went up a few stairs, and down some others, and the air around them grew as icy as it must be outside. And there it was. A rickety wooden door into another room. Aderia lunged at it and the swollen wood splintered and broke apart. The three (and their unconscious captive) rushed into the room.

 

It was a coal storage cellar, near empty. The stone floor and walls were blackened by coal, and in the middle of the room, gathered up to the wall, was a small pile of the stuff. There, up on the wall, a wooden hatch flapped open in the wind. It banged, banged, banged on its frame. This must be were coal deliveries were made to the castle, to then be distributed to ovens and braziers. The hatch was small and high up on the wall, and it seemed the realization dawned on them all at once: they may not get through it.

 

After some negotiations, Ryca climbed up first. She was skinny and got through it easily. She then reached down to pull the wrapped up prince through. Medin lifted him over his head and Ryca pulled, and with a lot of groaning and struggling he was through. Medin climbed out second and then helped Aderia. She threw her shield and sheathed, bloody sword up first, then her armor. She was much shorter and much larger than any of the others. Medin was terrified, suddenly, that she wouldn't make it. He laid down on his stomach on the ground and reached in through the hatch. It beat down on his back in the wind until Ryca held it still. She sat down across his thighs to weigh him down.

 

Shouts and running steps were heard from down in the tunnels now. Aderia backed up and ran, up the pile of crumbling coal and leaped. She grabbed on to Medin's upper arms and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Together, he and Ryca pulled. It was a tight squeeze, yes, but Aderia got through. She picked up her weapons and armor again, Medin picked up the prince, and then they were running for their lives once more, blinded by the dark and the storm both.

 

Outside, it was freezing cold and there was a flurry of snow, dancing through the wind. The hatch opened up in the wall right above the cobbled ground of a narrow back alley, in a building that didn't seem to be connected to the Spires at all. Those halls must have lead under the streets themselves. Perhaps they extended all throughout the city of Exile. They were far from the castle, and with the awful weather, Medin was lost. He wanted to head for the harbor and get on the first ship home before they were discovered, or find a way through the city walls before they were all barred, but they had to find shelter first as the storm picked up.

 

They wandered, trudging through the violent winds and thick snow. He noted Ryca slipping something past the prince's gagged lips, but didn't interfere. She met his gaze for a moment and he simply nodded at her. She turned around and went to cling to Aderia, sharing their warmth. Aderia's eyes were hollow, shocked. But they had to keep it together.

 

Finally, they found some shelter everyone agreed seemed safe enough. An abandoned store, left to decay, and in it a basement. The dust lay thick on the ground, thick enough that he could tell no one had been through here in months and months. That's where they settled, going underground to wait out the raging storm. They removed their masks, though the smell of the basement was no better than the dusty linen.

 

The prince was still out cold, but Medin suspected whatever Ryca had forced into his mouth was the reason for that. They sat him down against a wall and removed his blindfold and gag but didn't free his arm and legs. Aderia quickly got to wiping her sword clean with frantic movements. Ryca lit the wood stove in the corner to make them food and keep them warm.

 

Medin sat down with Aderia, leaning in on her tense form. “You did what you had to, Aderia.”

 

_Whatever the Queen wants him for, it better be worth it._ She signed. There was blood on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Medin wiped them off gently, while Ryca made them tea.

 

“It will be. Aderia, my sister in all but blood. Trust me.”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8. Aderia II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 contains:
> 
> Implied abuse/neglect

**Chapter 8. Aderia II.**

**An abandoned store, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Aderia agreed to take the watch that night. She had slept well the night before, unlike Medin and Ryca, and she had a feeling she wouldn't get to sleep at all this night if she tried. She listened to their peaceful breathing, and envied them. Medin slept, Ryca slept, even the prince slept, after she had knocked him over the head. A regrettable reaction, but she was high strung now and if they were discovered at this point it was a certain death sentence. She would rather kill the prince himself and any number of innocents to protect Ryca and Medin. But that didn't stop her from desperately wishing she would never have to kill anyone again.

 

This hadn't been her first kill, either. She had been tasked with defending Sun City before being assigned as Medin's personal guard, and she had taken down her fair share of villains. The occasional maniac trying to break into the castle, or some dangerous murderer in the city, preying on others. Never a child. Never a little girl whose only crime had been to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

She ate, and she waited, and she fed the fire in the stove. The smoke must be escaping through the chimney above, into the howling wind. Someone might see it, and realize smoke should not be coming from the chimney of an abandoned store. But it was unlikely someone was out on a night like this, or even that the smoke would be visible in this blizzard. Perhaps there was some truth to the stories about the wrath of Is. They had stolen his prince, and this storm had appeared. But Aderia didn't know enough about Ishemish weather patterns to judge if this was an unnatural occurrence.

 

She worried, though. She worried this wasn't just the rage of Is, but the punishment of Sol as well. The Queen had all but ordered them to do this, and there was no way Medin or herself could disobey the Queen. That still didn't make this right. Kidnapping. Child murder, even out of self defense.

 

She wished Ryca could wake up. She wanted to talk to her, to cry with her. Ryca could help her. She would understand why this was bothering her. Medin wouldn't. Aderia loved him as a friend and a brother, but he could be so dense at times. But she knew Ryca had slept poorly lately. Going to Ishem by ship was faster and more reliable than by walking or riding, and they had needed to get to Ishem before the ceremony. It had been necessary, but the passage through the Jaws hadn't been easy on Ryca.

 

Finally, with no more things to eat or pieces of armor to clean, she couldn't stand behind alone with her thoughts anymore. She crept over to Ryca and shook her gently. Ryca rolled over onto her back right away, eyes already open. She sat up, and Aderia hugged her tightly. Ryca hushed and stroked her back.

 

_ You reacted quickly. You likely saved our lives _ , Ryca signed to her, after Aderia pulled away from the hug. Aderia let out a sob and nodded. She had, and she knew that. But still.

 

_ That child was no danger to us. I murdered her _ .

 

Ryca frowned.  _ You are ready to die for your prince, but not kill for him? _

 

_ Not children _ . Aderia sighed.

 

“Then try not to make it a habit.” Ryca's voice sounded so stern it jolted Aderia right out of her self pity.

 

-

 

When morning came about, the storm had settled. Ryca went back to sleep after agreeing to Aderia's suggestion to rest her head on Aderia's lap. They had done such things when they were girls in school and either of them had trouble sleeping, sharing beds and keeping watch as the other fell asleep. It calmed Aderia as much as it did Ryca. The trace of familiarity grounded them both.

 

Eventually Ryca rolled out of her lap, and Aderia got up, rubbing some feeling back in her numb leg. It pricked and stung as the blood flow returned to normal. Aderia cooked breakfast and made them tea. She put the fire out before the smoke was discovered. While Ryca was exhausted, and Medin likely was too, Aderia felt alert in an overtired way.

  
The first one to wake up was the prince, and this time, Aderia was more gentle in her attempt to feed him. She stayed further away, rather than crowding him, and set down a bowl of eggs and a cup of tea before him.

 

_ Do you understand me? _ She gestured at him. 

 

He looked confused, glancing around the brightening cellar warily, with narrowed eyes. He didn't seem to understand her, not even focusing on the waving of her hands, and he seemed reluctant to open his mouth. Perhaps because when he last did, he'd gotten slugged over the head.

 

She sighed and took out her little notebook, made from sewn-together pages of parchment, and a pencil. She wrote instead. 'SORRY FOR TYING YOU UP. MEDIN WILL EXPLAIN. EAT SOMETHING'.

 

He squinted at the words on the parchment, a look of intense concentration on his face. Aderia knew Ishem and Solfru used the same letters, and similar enough words to be understood between both countries, especially in writing. He shook his head. She groaned, and he flinched.

 

“Sorry,” he croaked out in Ishemish, ducking his head. Wrapped up and tied as he was, it was all he could do, she supposed, to protect himself from another blow. “I can't read well. Please don't hurt me.” The words were similar enough. The pronunciation was a little strange, but she understood him.

 

She nodded and held her hands out, palms bared. She was unarmed, and she wouldn't hurt him. When he looked a little less uneasy she approached slowly, untying his arm. It slipped out of the cloak and he brought his hand to his head, rubbing it. It must hurt, she thought.

 

_ Sorry _ , she signed, though he didn't understand her. She bowed instead, putting on her most regretful expression. Then things were quiet and awkward as he ate and drank, glancing fearfully over at Ryca and Medin, while throwing the occasional suspicious look at Aderia. She really wished someone else would wake up soon. But she ate and drank too as she waited, to pass the time.

 

“Ah, the prince is awake!” Medin exclaimed loudly before popping down on the floor next to Aderia with his own bowl of fried eggs and a steaming cup of tea. His voice made both Aderia and the prince cringe, and it made Ryca stir and groan where she slept.

 

“Shhh!” Aderia hissed at him through clenched teeth.

 

Medin shrugged. “Sorry. Good morning, prince Kael.” He turned his brilliant grin to Kael, who didn't look like he was having a good morning at all. He pulled the cloak closer to his chest, covering up. And with that strange, half translucent dress underneath, who could blame him?

 

“Take me back. You need to take me back right now. Whatever it is you're demanding you will have it. Please, take me back!” Kael's eyes watered and he looked scared. His meaning was clear, even when he spoke in such a panicked tone that his accent was even harder to translate. Aderia bit her lip and averted her eyes. They were too far into this to go back.

 

“And get our heads chopped off with no reward? I am sorry, sweet prince. But we mean you no harm. You have my word on that, as the Prince of the great Queendom of Solfru.”

 

Ryca let out another groan, now awake. “My prince. You have now successfully ensured that we can never go back on this. What did we invent fake names for?” She lit her pipe and sucked on it greedily. Aderia served her a bowl and a cup too, and she thanked her for both but only had the tea, not the eggs.

 

“The prince? Then this is an act of war! You can't, you can't kidnap me...!” Kael's voice was a harsh whisper, though not as hoarse anymore now that he had whet his throat with the tea. “The wedding is coming up. Please...!” He clambered forward, despite his legs being tied, supporting himself on one hand and hop-crawling along to clutch at Medin's arm.

 

Medin took his hand and kissed it. “I apologize, but you must see this from my perspective. Say we are not kidnapping you, but rather rescuing you. And that this is a diplomatic intervention. The Queen needs to speak to you. And that could hardly happen once you're married.” He rolled his eyes, as if Kael was silly to even consider such a thing.

 

Kael pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned by Medin's lips and toppled over, unbalanced and flailing. Aderia expected Medin to laugh at the ungraceful sight. It looked like Kael did too, the way he tensed up and clenched his jaw tight. But Medin simply helped him sit back up before untying his legs.

 

“Prince Kael. This is an important matter...” Ryca started, speaking Ishemish. Aderia wasn't too surprised, but Kael smiled at it. “Please hear me out. Or you will miss this chance at saving yourself, and Ishem.”

 

Finally, the Ishemish prince nodded and looked down at the floor. His white blond hair fell down to cover his face, and he brushed it back with his hand. Ryca smiled gently, before giving Medin a glance that Aderia recognized as her 'you owe me for this' look. Judging by Medin's grave nod, he recognized it too.

 

-

 

_ Ryca, you're a hero _ , Medin signed across the room later, after learning from Aderia that Kael didn't understand sign language. Ryca had bandaged his hand, though Aderia knew Kael's bite hadn't broken skin. He was just being dramatic. Ryca just smirked and bowed her head at him. 

 

Aderia had to smile at them, until she looked back at Kael. Despite listening and seemingly deciding to come with them, he looked so frightened and lost. He was only a year younger than her, she had learned. But he seemed much younger. He was taller than her, if not by a lot, but could hardly weigh half as much. His missing arm – she'd have to ask about it later, or have Ryca ask about it, since he seemed to be growing to trust her – might have accounted for some of his lightness, but not all of it. Aderia thought he looked underfed and pushed food on him. Medin had managed to convince him to change out of his thin gown (traditional, apparently) and into some of his spare clothes. They hung loose on him. Medin made new holes in a belt so Kael could keep his pants up around his waist. 

 

No matter how Medin tried though, he couldn't get Kael to give up his cloak, fearing it would give him away. It seemed it belonged to someone important to him, but Aderia thought it just looked uncomfortable. Not to mention, it smelled weird. Man sweat and alcohol. But the way Kael would clutch it to his face every so often convinced her that it was better to let him keep it.

 

Finding shoes for Kael was harder. He had been barefoot when they 'rescued' him. Before they ventured out, they would have to make sure he didn't loose his toes to frostbite. Ryca donated a knitted scarf, a hat to hide his long hair, and gloves. She made socks too. Aderia was ever amazed at the many pockets in her robes – she must have a yarn of wool in there somewhere, as she produced the items with no delay while Medin left the store to go scouting in the snowed in city.

 

Medin returned just before dark, shuddering and covered in snow. He brought with him a pair of fine boots, more food, and news. He delivered the latter while Kael tried the boots on over the thick woolen socks Ryca had just finished. Aderia watched him struggle with lacing the boots up for a moment, before taking pity on him and kneeling to aid him.

 

“They've found out, no surprise there. The city's in lockdown. Between the closed off harbor, the large amount of visitors, and the snowstorm, it's like people are preparing for a siege. The city watch is out in full force, looking for a runaway.” Medin's voice was smooth, but Aderia could tell he was troubled. He was rubbing his stomach, so he probably ran out of willow bark, too.

 

“I didn't run away,” Kael's voice sounded tiny. “Marett has to know I wouldn't run away!” He stood, and Aderia grabbed his wrist to restrain him. “Please! I have to go back, if you just explain this all to him, he will help you too, I promise! He's a good man, he would help! I have to get married! I have to get married or everyone will...!” He was getting hysterical, shouting louder. If his voice carried out to the street above...

 

But Ryca stood before Aderia could shut Kael up again in a similarly violent way as before. Ryca placed her hands on each of his shoulders, and leaned down until they saw eye to eye, foreheads nearly touching. “Breathe with me. In... out... In... out...” Kael did, and they breathed slowly. The panicked look in his eyes disappeared soon, and Aderia relaxed.

 

“We will stick to the plan, prince Kael. This is the only way to do it. If Is wants you so, He will wait for you. This storm is a normal winter storm. You know this. You are from Ishem. You have seen worse storms even during happy marriages.” She spoke slowly. Her words seemed to get through to Kael, and he nodded, relaxing a little. “And you will be able to explain it all to Marett when you return.”

 

Kael smiled a little. “He will be amazed to learn I've been to Solfru. I've always wanted to see it.”

 

Medin grinned wider and wrapped an arm around Kael's waist. “You will see it all. I'll give you the royal tour.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9. Marett I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 contains:
> 
> Violence  
> Implied sexual abuse

**Chapter 9. Marett I**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Kael had been nowhere to be found in the throne room, so Marett searched the only other place he would be – his own room, perhaps in the greenhouse attached to it. But the small chambers were as empty as the throne room had been. There were only the chirps of that bird mocking him as he called for his prince and got  no response. Perhaps he had gone to the kitchen. No, not alone. Perhaps he was in the library. Perhaps he had fallen asleep on the way, after Sebhan made him drink so much to calm his nerves.

 

Marett started to get concerned, and he had called the guards to search the entirety of the Spires, looking for the prince. Their search turned up empty, until one of them found the body of a servant girl in the tunnels. By the time Marett got wind of that, he was frantic.

 

Sebhan met him in the throne room, where he was pacing before the statue of Is. The storm was howling outside. Kael had barely been dressed. If he was out there in this weather...

 

“I have spread the news of the prince's escape. The whole city will keep an eye out. He will be back with us soon. There is no way for him to run. The port is closed, as are all the city gates.” The large-eyed banker rubbed his greasy hands together, keeping them warm in the icy room. Snow whirled down over them from the windows above, and he had to nearly yell to make himself heard over the shrieking gale.

 

“Escape?!” Marett grabbed the man by the collar. “Kael wouldn't escape. He couldn't hold a sword on his own, much less stab a child through the chest. He is weak as a puppy, and sweeter than one too. I raised the child as my own. He wouldn't run away from me.”

 

Sebhan might have doomed Kael by spreading such lies. If the people thought it was true, and if they did find him, what was to say they wouldn't take their displeasure out on him as they had on poor Faiet, who had come before him?

 

Sebhan laughed in his face. “You knew the child for three years. I knew him for nine. He does anything to please people. As his kind are raised to do. He had you wrapped around his little finger. And when your guard was down... away he scarpers.”

 

Marett couldn't believe his ears. Was this man really so stupid, so conceited, that he would think the prince would leave on his own volition?

 

“I saw you slipped him something more than wine,” Marett countered coldly. “Perhaps you stole him away. And if not, you are as guilty in his disappearance as whoever did. He could hardly have fought them, if he even was aware of them at all!”

 

The slimy man snorted, a disgusting sound, and bared his uneven, but unnaturally white, teeth in a mockery of a smile. “That was simply a tradition, dear Marett. You truly are a country boy.”

 

Marett's blood burned hotter at being called 'boy' at age 34. Sebhan may be his senior, but not by enough to regard a seasoned soldier and former priest a _child_. He gritted his teeth. “What tradition? It was unnecessary. If you meant to calm him, you should have given it to him before the ceremony, and with far less wine.”

 

“It is simply procedure for royal weddings. A last feast before the final ceremony. You would have been invited. The great god has no body, after all. He cannot partake. So he would hardly mind, would he? It is an offering to him, regardless. The Winter Council is meant to represent his interests in this world. We are his flesh, if you catch my drift.”

 

Marett did catch his drift, and his drift made him see red. His dagger plunged into Sebhan's throat, again and again, before he kicked him to the ground, dyeing the marble red as it had been three years ago. He spat on him, too, for having the gall to plot something like that.

 

His heart sank, imagining his Kael at the mercy of Sebhan and his greasy, fat fingers. Who else was involved in this? The whole council? For how long had this gone on? He thought of Faiet, the fair young man with the mind of a child, who couldn't speak but sometimes had fits of panic, seemingly without reason. But perhaps there had been plenty of reason. He thought of the pure Laela, of how saddened she may be if she knew what her original sacrifice had become.

 

He kicked the already dead Sebhan in the balls. Once, twice, then once more just for good measure, before calling the guards. Three of them came running from the hallway outside, and seemed torn at the sight. The High Councilor dead on the ground. One of the council members, the prince's guardian, shamelessly clutching a bloodied dagger. Marett could only assume what they were thinking, but he wasn't arrested on sight. Sebhan was loathed by many.

 

“Explain,” one of the guards barked. He recognized the voice, though the helmet concealed the face. A young woman he had mentored back in Frost, and had recommended for the royal guard in the capital. He relaxed a little. She owed him, and it seemed she was letting him cash in on the favor tonight.

 

“The High Councilor has been plotting, against Ishem and against Is Himself. After today's ceremony, I noted he slipped the prince drugged wine. He claimed it was to calm his nerves. When I confronted him here, he gloated about it. A plot to take the prince away. He betrayed our land, and he betrayed Is,” Marett pointed dramatically to the statue behind him. It was an exaggeration, but since Is had yet to strike him down for lying, Marett took that to mean this lie was okay, or not a lie at all.

 

“When he said all this, and laughed at me, I couldn't contain my rage. Prince Kael was like a son to me, as you well know. And he would save our land. Now look. The storm rages on outside. The god has been enraged and this piece of shit is responsible.” He spat on the corpse again.

 

“An understandable reaction,” the female guard responded, and the others nodded, in sympathy or in shared hate of the High Councilor. They dragged the body away, and Marett heard them muttering to one another about Sebhan and his rumored tastes in bedmates.

 

It didn't bring Kael back to him, but it eased his mind a little. That revolting man... but now was not the time to linger, or to track down others involved in this disgusting mess. Kael had to be found, before something terrible happened. To all of these people, he may have only been a sacrifice to be devoured. But to Marett, he was so much more than that. And he couldn't simply let him slip out of his grasp.

 

He sent word to both the castle guard and the city guard to go to any means necessary to bring Kael back alive or find information of his potential kidnappers. Those who had killed a child, though only a servant, and had taken away his prince.

 

He convened the Winter Council as well. They were now only twelve, including himself. Another would have to be chosen, and Kael would have to be returned, for their numbers to reach their full numbers of fourteen men and women. Marett looked out over their sullen faces. Some looked more annoyed and frustrated than others, and Marett could not help but think that they were disappointed they were missing out on their 'traditional' feast. But he had also woken them in the middle of the night, if the blizzard had not kept them up.

 

“The prince is gone. Taken from us, only days before the new moon. I found that High Councilor Sebhan was involved in this plot, having planned to drug and use the prince for his own nefarious purposes, and I executed him for treason against Is and against this land. Now we are tasked with choosing a new High Councilor to see Ishem through these very troubling times. I trust you will make the right decision.” There was still blood on his hands, and he was wiping his dagger clean on his night shirt as he spoke. By their expressions of fear and discomfort, it became obvious what their decision would be.

 

Marett was unanimously voted as new High Councilor. It was a small victory, all things considered, but an important step if he wanted to protect Kael from his own Winter Council. If he was still alive. If he would ever be brought back. His heart sank at the thought of never braiding the boy's hair again, of never sitting with him and reading to him, of never hearing him sing harmonies with his cursed pet bird, or look at him with those wide, trusting eyes.

 

He would bring this whole country to the brink of destruction to get him back. He would burn the Crowns from coast to coast, from Eld in the west to Dim in the east, if it meant destroying those who had taken his child from him, his prince. The whole land could perish, for all Marett cared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck with me so far, thank you so much!


	10. Chapter 10. Domra I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 contains:
> 
> Mentions of human sacrifice

**Chapter 10. Domra I**

**Central Market, Exile, Ishem.**

 

The day after the gifting ceremony, once the storm had settled, Domra dragged himself from his narrow bed. He stoked the fire in the wood stove in the corner of his loft room and reattached one of the rugs he had hung on the wall to keep the worst of the draft out. It had been windy enough in the night that the tapestries, rags, rugs and furs that he had nailed to the planks all around the room had torn in places. He would need to get more scrap cloth, if the winter would continue on like it had begun.

 

He climbed down the ladder into the empty flower shop to dig his way out. He wrapped up in several layers of clothes and a wolf skin coat to keep warm and grabbed the wood and steel shovel propped up against the wall behind a cupboard. He unlocked the door and stepped out of the way quickly when it swung inwards on its hinges, followed by a tumbling pile of snow that landed wetly on the worn wooden floor. He sighed and went to digging his way out and clearing the street outside. Others were already doing the same, clearing the front of their houses, stores, inns and streets. Exile could be a rough city to live in, at times, and rougher now than ever before, but the poorer people always pulled together, and it made Domra smile.

 

After Domra and his neighbors had cleared the entire market area around the Spires, the baker two shops down from the flower shop invited all of them in for hot meat pies right from the oven. Domra was glad to accept, to warm his body with food and his heart with conversation. He dropped his shovel off at the shop before joining the others for breakfast. The baker's daughter was a delightfully witty and plump woman who had seen many harsh winters but gotten no colder or harder for it. She served slices of steaming pie and smiles to the hardworking men and women who had spent all morning digging paths through the market.

 

And this was how Domra learned of the lockdown and of the stolen prince. Many were worried and angry. Exile had no real food stores and depended greatly on trade from outside the city walls and from across the sea. Moreover, the population of the city had nearly doubled with the inflow of visitors from near and far who had come for the wedding. Crime was common in Exile on the best of days, but in such dire circumstances, it was likely to increase. People would panic as they did not know if they'd be able to feed their families a week from now, even a day from now. Other people would take advantage of the chaos and fear and making a profit. This was how it worked in Exile, and likely in other places too, where people gathered in large numbers.

 

“Aye!” exclaimed Borga indignantly, a woman with a tattooed face and golden brown skin who Domra knew not only by name but by her business too. She was a pharmacist for those with the need but without the money. Her stock was not always that reliable and came from questionable sources. Domra had once been one of those sources. She gave medicine away for cheap or even free if she considered your need great enough.

 

“I was pulled from my bed this morning by the cursed city guards, in full armor!” Her dark brown eyes gleamed with anger. “They turned the house over! Scared my little Camellia, too! It took me an hour to calm her down again!” She clutched a cooing child to her chest, a fat little baby with the sweetest laugh.

 

Domra clenched his fists. It seemed he wasn't the only one to react in anger. Most of these people had needed her help in their lives or else knew someone who had. She had helped many, and her daughter deserved peace. Some gave cries of indignation or anger at the news.

 

“Looking for the prince, they said. Like he'd be hiding in a crib!” Borga continued. “High Councilor's orders, they said.” She spat on the ground. “That bastard Sebhan. Someone should string up the whole Council with chains. Serves better as a fucking sacrifice than a half-wit cripple boy. The Old Ways worked at least, bloody as they were. Now all we get are stormy winters and summers too cold to grow even a beet.”

 

The impromptu breakfast meeting turned to discussion of outright heresy and treason, and Domra's sympathetic anger turned to discomfort. He remained quiet. Not that he felt a particular loyalty to the Council. He barely had faith in Is, truth be told – and that was a truth he would never tell – but he knew how bad it may be if they were caught saying such things.

 

He gave some excuse about needing to repair the storm damage on his room, scratching his beard nervously. He could tell the other distrusted him, then, or were at least annoyed with his disinterest in the heated conversation. Some looked at him coldly. Other refused to look at him at all. They could think what they wanted – he was no snitch, but he had too much to lose to risk to speak of treason. Speech that changed nothing, that would never change anything. A whole lot of danger for no reward, that didn't seem like a good way to spend the morning to him. Borga at least should have known better, having a child with her.

 

Domra was regretful about leaving the warmth and the scent of baked goods behind and head back into the cold, but his excuse had not been a lie. If he didn't windproof his room today, he risked catching a chill or even frostbite, should the temperatures plunge during the night.

 

As he passed the stairs and the Spires towered above him he glanced up. Behind the two, steep towers nearly piercing the heavens, the sky was hidden by swollen snow clouds. Before them swirled darker smoke from the many chimneys in Ishem, and from the volcano far in the west.

 

They said Eld was waking again. If she did, she would kill many people living and slaving away on her slopes. And she would kill many more as far away as Exile by blocking out the sun for weeks and making the winter colder yet. The winds from the ocean always blew in over the mountains that surrounded Ishem on all sides and once the smoke had blown in to cover the basin, it would take a long time to disappear again. Domra's mother had said that last time Eld exploded, the winter lasted for a generation.

 

Perhaps he should close up shop and try to get out of the city the first chance he got. He had been making good money right before the wedding, but his stock was nearly cleaned. The saplings and seedlings he had sown would take long to grow. If the winter was colder and darker than usual, they might die there in their pots. Yesterday, that cute foreign girl had taken his last flower, a poor Bergenia so wilted he felt too bad to even charge her for it. She had paid with a kiss instead, despite his protests.

 

The memory of her black glittering eyes, her soft warm lips and bright hair as beautiful as the sun warmed him and pulled his thoughts far away. She would be stuck in the city too, unless she left before the lockdown. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt staying a little longer.

 

That was when the deafening sound of horns woke him from his daydream. He had leaned on the stone railing running along the staircase up to the Spires and he jumped, looking up at the source of the sound. On the top of the stairs, clad all in white like death, white like snow, stood the Winter Council.

 

Two heads short, Domra counted. The Prince was missing, of course, but who else? The councilor in the middle blew the horn again, trumpeting out the customary tones. The heavy horn was blown a total of thirteen times, when he counted the first one that had startled him. Thirteen meant death. Death of a Councilor. Many of them were old, so it was no surprise. Domra still had an awful feeling about it. Too many things had happened in so short a time.

 

He didn't stay to listen. He felt anxious and he returned home. He hadn't locked his door when going out to shovel snow, and then forgotten it in his hunger for meat pie. But he was certain he hadn't left the door open. It stood ajar, with the little sign claiming the store was CLOSED dangling in the wind.

 

The hand painted wooden sign decorated with flower illustrations (his little sister had made it for him, when his family had come to visit him in Exile all the way from South Harbor) that normally hung over the door had fallen to the ground and been stepped on by heavy boots. Domra cursed and picked it up off the cobblestones. He brushed it off as best he could. The wood was knackered and paint was chipped in places, but it wasn't ruined. He breathed a sigh of relief and carried it into the store to hide it safely behind the counter. His mind flashed to his gold, half of it hidden under his mattress and the other half under a loose plank in his pantry.

 

“Who is there?!” He yelled, making himself sound as frightening as he could. His normally soft spoken voice became the roar of an angered bear, at least in his own mind. But there was no response, no creaking of planks under heavy feet. The store was empty now but it had been turned over. He ran to the back to check on his flowerpots. He breathed a sigh of relief to see most of them intact, with only a couple of pots smashed onto the floor. All the cupboards had been opened and rummaged through. He mumbled an apology to the murdered seedlings on the floor before climbing the ladder up into his bedroom.

 

The mattress had been torn from the bed, and all the wall coverings had been ripped from the nails that held them to the planks. Someone must have expected a hidden compartment behind one of them rather than just dry planks and gaps so wide you could see the Spires through some of them. His gold was still there, as the pouch hidden in the pantry had been. So not a thief. A raid.

 

Domra took a deep breath. He hoped that the city guard would find their prince soon so they could stop tormenting the honest and the poor, and went to work covering the walls back up with what spare fabrics he had. He ran out of nails and had to go out for more. By the time he was finished it was dark and he went to sleep with aching hands and a growing worry in his heart.

 

-

 

The loud rattling of someone banging on the door woke Domra from his heavy sleep. He groaned and rolled out of bed, wrapping up in his skins as he nearly fell down the ladder. Who had such need of flowers at the ass crack of dawn that they came to beat his door down? He unlocked and opened it, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he did. The chilly air that came in when he opened the door made his teeth clatter. “What is it?” He asked, voice brusque and rough in his tiredness.

 

“Flower boy,” the stranger outside the door purred in a strange accent. He blinked and looked out. Four strangers stood there. No. Three strangers, and his mute sunshine girl. He stepped aside, confused and cold, to let them in.

 

“Come in so I can shut the door already,” he muttered. “Though I don't know what the point is. The city guard left it open yesterday. The cold probably already killed everything I'm growing.” That reminded him, he still hadn't cleaned up the broken pottery, soil and slain seedlings in the back.

 

_The city guard?_ His sunshine girl asked with wide, dark eyes. She pulled off her knitted cap and let her hair spill out from under it. Domra eyed the others – a handsome, dark young man with an aquiline nose, the one who had purred at him. A tall woman with a sharp but pretty face, and a short person with their hood pulled up to hide their face in shadows. They were all shivering from the cold, and though he couldn't see the shortest person's face, he could feel their eyes on him as they stared. He folded his arms tightly across his chest to shield himself from the glare.

 

“Aye.” Domra nodded. “I assume it was them. Come looking for their runaway. The city's under lock and key. I'd hate being stuck here away from home, like you all are. And now with a Councilor dead this is all a mess.”

 

The small, hooded figure gripped the sunshine girl's arm tightly and hissed. Domra looked down at him in confusion.

 

“Which councilor?” The figure asked – perhaps a young boy or a slightly older girl, judging from the voice. What surprised him was that the tiny figure in oversized clothing spoke Ishemish perfectly. “Was it Marett?”

 

“I don't know. I don't care. Why do you?” He grumbled, still annoyed at this unexplained and strange disturbance in the early morning. The figure just shook their head, and said no more, but they were shaking until the tall woman took their hand and held it.

 

_Domra_ , Aderia signed. The way she mouthed his name but used the symbols for 'flower boy' made him blush. He liked it when she called him that, but not when others did. He smiled at her as his grumpiness melted away. He scratched his beard nervously and stroked his hair back. He knew he must look a mess.  _We need a way out of the city._

 

“Just wait. They will find the prince soon, and then you can leave. You were staying for the wedding anyway, right? Another few days won't hurt. And he is sure to turn up.” Domra took a seat on the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“We can't wait,” the tall woman said, pulling her hood back. Her voice was a deep whisper, strangely sultry. He felt uncomfortable meeting her gaze. There was something too piercing about her dark eyes, something too intense.

 

“My mother, at home, you see. She has gotten sick. I got the news only yesterday, but it was too late to leave. I have to see her before she passes on, please!” The handsome man with tight black curls exclaimed, stifling a sob.

 

It tugged on Domra's heartstrings. He knew what it was like to be far away and not getting say a final goodbye. His own father's death was still an open wound in his chest and hearing the grief in the other man's voice made the wound weep once more.

 

“I understand, I do. But I'm not sure what you want me to do. I'm just a farmer's boy from South Harbor. I run a flower shop. That's all.”

 

_No_ , Aderia signed, and Domra bit his lip. He knew he had told her too much when she first came along, but she had such an easy smile and the sweetest dimples and freckles, and she was a foreign girl who would soon be out of the city. He had thought he would never see her again. But then he did see her again, and she was using his openness against him.  _You said you had been in jail. You said you were a smuggler._

 

“Once, yes. Then I was locked up!” Domra exclaimed in frustration. “I don't do that anymore. I'm lucky I was even allowed to open a store here. I'm lucky I was allowed to live!”

 

Didn't she realize she was asking too much of a stranger? He was trying to make some money to send home to his family. He had to support them. He couldn't get in trouble again. There might not be any mercy left for him this time.

 

“You don't need to do anything.” The tall woman with the piercing eyes said. “Say you made a note for the city guard informing them of tunnels under the city walls, to make sure they could block them off. It would be for the prince, wouldn't it? To make sure he is returned safely. And perhaps we happened to catch a glimpse of that list of locations before you could deliver it.”

 

Curse her, but her words made sense. They made him feel like it was possible to do. But why would he? For four perfect strangers? No, three strangers and a girl whose smile made his heart skip a beat.

 

“It's too dangerous. Aderia,” he said her name and signed it at the same time, using the gestures for 'sunshine girl', which made her giggle, “I can't risk my life for you, I barely know you.”

 

_We would never tell them about you. If we are caught, we take the blame. Please._ She took his hand, grasped it to her chest. She wore chain mail under her tunic and winter coat, but he could tell her flesh was soft and warm underneath that. His skin heated up and he pulled his hand away before his reaction became too obvious.

 

“We will pay,” the handsome man said, brusquely pushing not one but two heavy pouches of gold into his hands. Only a glimpse into them told him it was real, and more than twice the amount he had made in the last year off of his shop.

 

Domra's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. His hands shook, rattling the heavy coins together. He put the bags of gold down and wrought his hands together. For that much money he could close the shop. He could pay off his father's debts. He could renovate the farm. He could get his little sister a new dress, a nice one, not patched together and tattered. He could buy a strong horse for plowing and pulling carts. He could return home.

 

“Is that a yes?” The man smirked at him, showing off perfect teeth.

 

“Yes. Damn you. Yes.”

 

Aderia gave a whoop and pulled him down for a wet and clumsy kiss.

 


	11. Chapter 11. Kael II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 contains:
> 
> Mentions of abuse

**Chapter 11. Kael**

**Exile, Ishem.**

 

After hearing that a Councilor had died, Kael stopped listening to the flower seller, who looked eerily like his father back on Eld. His heart beat so fast he thought he'd be sick. Marett had said often that he wouldn't be able to live without him. That he cared so much for his prince, his child, that he might just die if Kael went away. That he might hurt himself in grief. He always said it when Kael was angry at him or acted distant. Marett would apologize, and tell Kael how much he loved him. How he would die for him, to keep him safe. Kael always forgave him. He had no one else.

 

Kael's eyes watered and he was glad for the hood hiding his face for more reasons than one. He was worried not only for Marett, but for his bird Kay, too, and the whole country, and for himself.

 

Ryca clasped his hand, and he remembered to keep breathing. She squeezed his hand with each slow, deep breath, and he calmed down a little. They stayed in the flower shop for another little while before returning to the cold streets once they had gotten the locations of the tunnels.

 

Moving through the city was nerve wracking. Kael hadn't ever left the Spires since he arrived to them when he was seven. The city had seemed huge then, but so empty. He had only noticed the buildings, so different from the shacks and the brick factories of Eld, and ignored the people. Now it seemed like Exile was nothing but crowds and guards bustling about. He wrapped Marett's cloak closer around himself and tried to look natural while still hiding his face.

 

Prince Medin had suggested cutting and dyeing his hair, but Kael couldn't. Marett loved to braid his hair and he needed to look this way. He needed to wear his hair long and white. His appearance had gotten him chosen for the Spires in the first place. He was a winter child with snow hair and ice eyes, with skin so thin and pale you could see the veins underneath it in the right light. That made him recognizable. So he wore his hair in a braid tucked under a hat. He kept his face and right shoulder hidden, hoping that would be enough. Groups of guards in full armor with swords and spears at the ready were stopping people on the streets, questioning them.

 

They were nearing a storehouse near the harbors. It had been on the flower boy's list, the nearest to the shop. So far, they had not been stopped.

 

“You there! Stop!” The shout was commanding and came from right behind them.

 

Kael flinched and froze in place. Medin put an arm around his shoulders. His grip felt just as commanding as the guard's shout. Medin lead him along slowly, walking casually. Behind them, he heard Aderia and Ryca stop. Where there had been Aderia's heavy marching steps and the clicking of Ryca's heels against the cobblestones, there was now silence.

 

Medin kept going around a corner, following the flow of pedestrians. Many were heading to the harbor in the hopes that ships would be allowed to leave today. Sailors and foreign visitors milled about restlessly, anxious to go.

 

Medin pulled Kael in behind a pile of wooden crates. Further back, Ryca and Aderia were being questioned still. Kael could barely make it out over the murmur of people, but he heard Ryca trying to placate the frustrated-sounding guards. He couldn't make out the details from this distance, but he saw Aderia wave her hands in even wilder gestures than normal. After a moment, the guards nodded and continued on to harass someone else. Kael let out a sigh of relief, and Medin hugged him closer for a second.

 

“You can thank me later.” He hissed at him smugly in his strange, melodic Solfruan accent.

 

“You can thank me too,” Kael muttered, his bad mood set off further by Medin's smugness. His left hand was gripping Marett's cloak so tightly he might wear a hole in it with his thumb. “For not screaming and getting you caught and executed.”

 

Medin glanced at him coldly, and for a second Kael was actually afraid that he had said too much in his anger and that Medin had decided enough was enough. He tensed, expecting pain. But then the prince laughed easily. “I like you.”

 

“But you wouldn't do that to me. I'm too pretty.” He grinned, posing dramatically like some gallant knight from a drawing in Kael's favorite storybook.

 

Kael just stared at him blankly, as words couldn't express how much that was not what he had been thinking at all. Luckily, Ryca and Aderia joined them moments after. He felt more at ease with Ryca than any of the others. While Aderia seemed kind and well-meaning, he couldn't understand her. It frustrated him, and likely her too. Medin, he didn't like. He smiled too much and touched him too much and he didn't take anything seriously and he was the reason this was happening to him in the first place.

 

“I think it's through here.” Ryca said, taking care to speak Ishemish. Though Kael understood Solfruan just fine, it was kind of her to do so. Each time she did he smiled at her. She gave him a tired smile in return.

 

Ryca picked the lock and they sneaked in through the back door into a warehouse containing piles and piles of steel. Not processed steel, just plates of it, ready to be shipped out and shaped into whatever they would become elsewhere. But now they likely wouldn't leave this warehouse anytime soon.

 

Following the instructions as they had been written on Domra's list, Aderia lead the way to a corner, tapping the floor with her boot every few steps. One floor tile sounded hollow. She knelt down and pulled it loose. It looked heavy but she lifted it up and aside easily. Beneath it lay a deep, dark hole, with a rotting ladder set into the wall.

 

Kael shuddered, but down they went. Medin went first, into the complete darkness. After him went Kael, who had to climb carefully. Medin helped, but climbing the decaying rope ladder with only one hand was nerve wracking. His arm shook with the effort. He was glad to feel his feet touch solid ground at last.

 

After him climbed Ryca with a lantern, finally giving them some light, and lastly came Aderia, closing the tile over them. When the heavy stone settled in, they were plunged into complete darkness, save for the dim light of Ryca's lantern. Aderia was about halfway down when the rope ladder snapped and tore, and she fell the last eight or so feet to the ground.

 

“Shit! Aderia!” Medin swore, letting go of Kael to go to her aid. She was growling in frustration on the floor and got up with Medin's help, rubbing her ass.

 

“I hope this tunnel goes somewhere. If not...” Kael mumbled, pressing close to Ryca and the light. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it again.

 

“Yeah. If not, we're trapped til someone finds us. That's a sad death if I ever heard one. Hardly a death for a prince and his loyal companions... and his royal hostage.” Medin smirked and the lantern light reflected off of his white teeth.

 

“I thought you said I wasn't your hostage.” Kael mumbled. Medin petted him on the head. It reminded him so much of Marett, down to the pitying smile, that he wanted to bite him. Or cry.

 

“People say a great many things, prince Kael. I do want to help you. That's the truth. And I don't want war. That is also the truth. But in the end, I am under orders to bring you back. And you know how demanding parents are. It's worse when they're royalty.” Medin kept petting him, reaching under the hood to ruffle his hair. Kael kicked him in the shin which earned a grunt of pain from Medin and a giggle from Ryca. But Medin stopped touching him, so it was a victory.

 

Kael did know how demanding parents were, and how cruel they could be if you weren't useful enough to them. But it was all for the greater good. His siblings were probably alive now, thanks to Kael being a winter child. In the end, he had at least been worth some money. And Marett... even he could be so demanding. But he too did it for Kael's sake. For Ishem's sake. Kael understood how awful it felt to disappoint your mother. But his own mother had only ever wanted him to help with chores and work in the steel factories, not go kidnap someone. And Marett had only insisted that he looked and acted his best so that he may be chosen. Neither of them had demanded anything like this. Perhaps that was what made a Queen a worse mother than his own. A Queen had to think not just of her other children, but of an entire empire.

 

They walked in darkness and relative silence after that. Kael held Ryca's hand. Now and then Medin leaned in and tried to speak to him. Aderia passed out food and water at intervals. His legs grew tired, his whole body ached, his lungs were sore, and there was a sharp pain in his side. They must have walked for hours when his legs buckled and he fell to his knees. It drew a startled yell from Aderia.

 

“I guess we could rest,” Medin sighed. He sounded disappointed.

 

“Sorry,” Kael mumbled. He wasn't sure why he apologized.

 

“I am tired too,” Ryca offered kindly, setting their lantern down on the rough stone ground. She sat down, folding her long legs gracefully beneath herself.

 

Aderia signed something and Medin laughed. “Yeah, me too. Gotta change, as well. We will be right back. You two behave.”

 

Aderia and Medin went back towards where they had come from, walking into the darkness until Kael couldn't see them. He could barely see well down here at all. Either it was too dark, or the light of the lantern was too bright and blinded him. He squinted at Ryca. He must have looked as confused has he felt because she answered his look in Ishemish.

 

“They went to pee. Do you need to as well? I could go with you, once they return.”

 

Kael shook his head. He hadn't eaten or drunk much today. He supposed he should feel hungry, but he only felt sick. Nauseous. He was supposed to fast anyway, he remembered. Marett had said so. His eyes teared up again and he wiped at them angrily with his sleeve. He heard the sound of trickling water back down the passageway, and grimaced. Ew.

 

“Are you worried about this Marett?” Ryca asked, as she ate from that pouch she always carried with her. It was no wonder she was so thin, Kael thought, if all she ate was nuts and fruit. Then again he wasn't one to talk.

 

“Yes. He's like a father to me. He's my guardian. He's on the Council.” Kael replied, his voice shaking a little.

 

Ryca nodded sympathetically. Kael offered a smile, but it faded fast from his face.

 

“I hope he is well.” Ryca said. Kael nodded.

 

“He said he can't live without me.” He blurted the words out without fully meaning to. He just needed to talk. He hadn't had anyone to talk to in so long. No one who would actually listen. Not since his childhood friend, in the Spires. And she had gone, like the rest, that terrible day when Faiet was murdered. Ryca seemed surprised. He felt like he need to explain. “It's his duty. Protecting me. And... what if he...”

 

She shook her head and placed her hand on his. Hers was so much larger. Long and graceful, but his hand felt tiny in hers. “If he truly wants to protect you, he would make sure to stay alive to see you back, don't you think?”

 

Kael hadn't seen it that way. But he nodded, eagerly. He very badly wanted to think that was what Marett would do. But this subject was too sensitive, and he had had enough of pitying looks.

 

“You speak Ishemish very well. You barely have an accent at all.” He complimented her.

 

“I had a teacher from Ishem,” she explained, and her smile faded. “He died.”

 

“Oh.” Kael blushed and looked away. “I'm sor-”

 

“Don't be.” She interrupted him, squeezing his hand nearly painfully. There was something so cold and sharp in her eyes then that it scared him. He pulled his hand away, silent.

 

Soon, Aderia and Medin returned. They rested for another while, before continuing on. Kael barely dared to look at Ryca again. After a moment Ryca stopped trying to talk to him and went on to have a conversation with Aderia instead, in their sign language.

 

Kael felt like he had done or said something so very wrong. He wasn't sure what or how to fix it. He continued on awkwardly, fidgeting with Marett's cloak. He was really starting to regret this. When Ryca and Medin had spoken to him back in that cellar it had seemed like a great adventure, but now he wanted to go back.

 

Medin almost seemed to be able to read the doubt in his mind, because he grabbed his hand tightly. Kael couldn't slip out of his grip. Even if he managed, there was no way back the way they came. All he could do was press on with the others.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment and he prayed that Is, and Marett, would forgive him for this.

 


	12. Chapter 12. Ryca III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 contains:
> 
> Some period discussions

**Chapter 12. Ryca III**

**The smuggling tunnels underneath Exile, Ishem.**

 

It was impossible to tell time and direction down in the dark. Ryca had taken to drawing arrows whenever they paused, using charcoal to mark the walls so they knew which way they were headed and where not to go. Medin's stomach had growled six times and six times they had stopped for meals. They had slept twice, and even Aderia seemed to sleep restlessly. Ryca would have made Sweetdream tea for them, but they were low on water already and with no idea if they would find more soon.

 

Their lantern had nearly run out and they had taken to burning rubble with pieces of fabric wrapped around them and dipped in lantern oil or cooking grease as torches. They had come across several larger caverns and hollows where wooden crates and barrels were stored. Aderia had smashed a crate up last time they passed one and now Medin carried the broken planks in a bundle on his back.

 

Medin's boisterous flirting and chatter had gradually tapered down and he retreated into himself. Staring at his feet while taking one step at a time in the uneven tunnels. The passageway had looked man-made under the city but now that they must have left Exile, they seemed more like natural hollows in the rock.

 

They had to be deep underground. It was warm down here, and there was enough moisture in the air that Ryca knew there had to be a stream somewhere. Perhaps under the rock, perhaps over their heads. But no running water yet, no water they could reach. They could probably survive off of licking the walls but the many scurrying creatures she heard but always failed to see around them made her feel discouraged about the idea.

 

“We have walked for days,” Kael mumbled beside her. He still needed frequent stops, and he sounded winded even though they walked slow to preserve their strength. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but he looked even more emaciated now than when they had stolen him away. She knew he ate but it didn't look like he ate enough.

 

“And if we turn back now we are just as trapped, but we spend two more days to return.” Ryca sighed. There may not be a way out of here. But the cave rooms with crates full of weapons and pelts and gold and iron clustered closer together now. They had to be nearing _something_. And hopefully, that something was an escape.

 

“I'm nearly out of moss. I'll bleed through all my clothes,” Medin complained. He had already asked Ryca if she carried any more moss, but she didn't.

 

“Are you injured?” Kael asked in a concerned whisper.

 

“Just the cursed moon blood. My organs are shedding, you see, so that I may fulfill my destiny of birthing dozens of children! As if I had nothing better to do.” He was muttering now, flailing the torch around and burning the cave ceiling.

 

Aderia let out a giggle, but she sounded distressed too. She had been very morose. Beyond potentially being doomed to starve underground, Ryca could see why. She had never seen Aderia look so haunted as when she struck that child dead. Aderia would still smile and laugh, but her laughs were briefer, her smiles more strained.

 

“But you're a prince!” Kael exclaimed, sounding much younger than his sixteen years. Ryca decided to stay out of this discussion. It was apparently a more sensitive and personal subject to her than it was to Medin, who had had his personal _subject_ made rather public.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You're a man!”

 

“That too.”

 

“But men don't have _cycles_!” Kael was blushing now, as if even speaking the word was somewhat scandalous.

 

“Apparently, some of them do.” Medin's response was curt, but his smile was ever so charming. “This one does.”

 

“Oh.” That shut the Ishemish prince up. “I'm sorry. I...”

 

“Didn't know. It's fine. Refreshing, actually.” Medin wrapped his strong arm around Kael's slender shoulders and held him close. “Back home, everyone knows. I'm glad to learn you never would have noticed 'til we hopped in bed together.”

 

Kael's face only turned redder and Ryca groaned, wishing Medin would stop tormenting the poor boy with his insinuations. Though perhaps she was projecting her own distaste for it on Kael. His embarrassment may be as much interest as it was discomfort, for all she knew.

 

“We would have never...! That's sacrilege...! Treason! You curse us further every time you suggest such a thing!” Kael was shaking, near to tears. Not interested, then. At least Medin seemed to get the hint and let him go.

 

Ryca marched up, ready to snatch Kael away from Medin before he caused further harm and discord within their already strained group. But Aderia made it first, taking Kael's hand as Ryca would do. She took Medin's hand in her other hand.

 

“You can't even commit treason against another country... I mean, I'm sorry,” mumbled Medin. “I'm just... tasteless. And I flirt when I'm stressed.”

 

Ryca was shocked at the admission, but Aderia only smiled and kissed Medin's cheek. She couldn't sign with both hands occupied, but she mouthed something at him that looked like 'We are all stressed'.

 

And they were.

 

-

 

Aderia gave a shout. They were soon at their last makeshift torch, and the air had been growing colder. Ryca's legs felt like lead and the world around her was spinning as it did when she rose too quickly from bed.

 

“What? What's wrong?” Medin asked, letting go of Aderia's hand to grasp his dagger. Aderia let go of Kael's hand too and signed eagerly, making sure she was in the light of the torch.

 

_Upwards. Upwards. We're going up!_

 

And they were. The slope had been so gradual Ryca hadn't noticed at first, until Medin lowered the torch to the ground. Ryca reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, round nut. She sat it down, and it rolled, back the way they had come. And more importantly...

 

“The ground is flat here. Look.” Ryca ran her fingers over the ground. It was smoother than it had been since they were out of Exile. This section was man-made, dug out of the rock. They had to be nearing an entrance.

 

The discovery gave them hope. All thought of settling in for another night on the hard ground was abandoned for a rush of energy. The slow slope grew steeper and steeper. Soon they hit a staircase. The steps were cut right out of the stone. Soon the walls around them were cobbled, and the steps as well. The air smelled of soil, not of damp stone and stagnant air. They were near to the surface now.

 

Aderia gave a whoop of relief, and she and Medin started running up the stairs. Ryca felt ready to collapse, and Kael looked worse than she felt. She had a feeling it wouldn't be so easy, either, but she was too tired, too relieved to get out from these dark and dreary tunnels, to call them back.

 

She staggered along in the dark with Kael, since Medin failed to leave the torch to them. She took his hand – as much a source of comfort for her as she was sure it was to him. She heard Medin and Aderia cheering and running up ahead. With only the two of them, she spoke Ishemish to him. “We will be out of here very soon now.”

 

“But where will we be?” He whispered back. The dark engulfed them as their torch traveled further and further away. The air grew much colder, different from the heat of the tunnels. Kael's breath showed as mist. He pulled his left hand out of Ryca's gentle grasp and adjusted his cloak and scarf tighter around himself.

 

“Where will we be, indeed... The Summer Door, or South Harbor... perhaps the Crossroads?” Ryca mused. It was hard to tell. She didn't know for how far they had walked and she only knew Ishem from maps, beyond Exile.

 

“That cloak is quite finely made. Not for royalty, but densely woven. Warm and heavy.” And far too big for the prince's small stature. Above them, she heard the creaking and whining of boards being pulled apart and broken. The torch light came nearer again, and it was a little brighter around them, though not by much.

 

“It's Marett's,” Kael mumbled, pressing the fabric over his mouth and nose. Mumbling into it and sniffing it as he was prone to do. “I was cold during the gift ceremony. So he let me borrow it. He is always so kind to me.”

 

“Your gown wasn't very thick and the throne room was very cold.” Ryca said, weighing her words carefully. There was a frailty about the young prince, one she recognized well. It made her uncomfortable. She tried to tread lightly.

 

“Winter is cold here. I am used to it. But I was weak during the ceremony. I hate that Marett saw me that way. That it might be his last memory of me.”

 

“It won't be, my sweet, gloomy prince. See this as an early honeymoon. You will return once you've heard my mother out.” Medin shot back, having overheard their conversation. They had caught up now, and Medin was standing at the top of the stairs, holding the torch up. Aderia was ramming her body into the wooden door blocking their exit. It seemed to have been nailed down or blocked off from the outside, so she threw herself at it stubbornly until it gave in.

 

The door broke open and Aderia fell through it, and instantly she was surrounded. Ryca saw the glint of steel, the glittering of eyes and bared teeth. They had broken into a shack and waiting for them were at least ten men. For an awful moment, Ryca thought they were royal guards. But she saw no armor, only blunted swords and curved knives.

 

Aderia was pinned down on the ground and Medin surrendered instantly, putting his torch down carefully on the stone stairs before stepping up into the shack with his hands raised. He was grabbed too, held by two thick-armed men.

 

“Oh, I swear I had a wet dream like this, once.” Medin quipped. He was punched in the face by a third man and his head slumped. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth onto the wood floor of the shack, and Aderia roared.

 

“You two! Come up here!” One of the men barked down the stairs. His knife was large as a butcher's blade, as dirty and nicked and uneven as his teeth were.

 

Ryca saw it all as if in slow motion, from just within the light range of the torch. She knew what she had to do. She grabbed Kael. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and tangled her hand in his hair for a better grip as she pulled her dagger. She held the blade to his throat.

 

“We have the prince!” She yelled in a deep, booming voice. “We have prince Kael!”

 


	13. Chapter 13. Aderia III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 contains:
> 
> Violence  
> Blood  
> Sexual Harassment  
> Transphobia

**Chapter 13. Aderia III**

**The Crossroads, Ishem.**

 

Aderia couldn't see what was going on behind her. She tried turning her head, but the sharp point of a blade dug into her neck, and a boot pressed against the back of her head. She could only see what was in front of her. Medin's nice leather boots and a puddle of blood at his feet. A couple of broken teeth lay in it. There was a steady dripping from above, drops of red that had to be draining one by one from some injury to his handsome face. She snarled and growled like a cornered animal, furious that someone would harm the prince, until she heard Ryca shout like she had never heard her shout before.

 

“We have the prince! We have prince Kael!” Ryca's voice wasn't so deep when she spoke normally but now it sounded like she was using all her strength. Aderia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why would she say that rather than keep quiet and hope it wasn't discovered? Until now they could have explained this as a mistake and maybe they'd be allowed to leave.

 

The announcement brought on murmurs and a nervous laugh or two. The splintery wooden floor reeked of piss and blood and sweat. The sword point at her neck let up and she sat, staring at Medin first. He looked unconscious with a nasty swollen lip, held up by the pale brutes restraining him by the arms. Then Aderia looked at Ryca. She stood at the top of the stairs with the coldest look Aderia had ever seen in her eyes. Kael was wide eyed and stiff in her grip, white as death. Ryca's elaborately decorated dagger was digging into his throat and a thin line of red formed just under the blade. Ryca's hand was steady though her knuckles whitened.

 

The gang crowding the shack murmured between each other. They were wearing leather bracers and long coats, all worn and patched but they looked warm enough. The room was freezing cold after the warmth of the underground tunnel.

 

Finally, one of the men seemed to decide to take up the lead. He stepped forward toward Ryca. He was shorter than her but much broader, with rough stubble and heavily bagged eyes. His head was shaven. Ryca stared him down, but he didn't flinch.

 

“The prince was kidnapped five days ago. Exile has been closed since.” His Ishemish dialect was rough and grating. Aderia had a hard enough time understanding Kael sometimes when he spoke too fast. This man spoke slowly but slurred his word. He had a lisp, making some sounds sharp and hissing.

 

“Which was why we fled through the smuggling tunnel.” Ryca's response came confidently. She stuck her chin out and narrowed her eyes. In her arms, Kael was whispering prayers, tears running down his face. Aderia barely dared to breathe. Behind her, Medin's breathing was wet and whistling. She wanted to check on him, but was too tense to move.

 

“How did foreigners like you find our tunnel, pretty girl?” The man growled. “And why do you think we give a shit about the prince being your hostage?”

 

“Is will curse you! I was chosen!” piped Kael. “If you return me alive, he will bless you instead.”

 

“If we bring you back we'll be executed for kidnapping you, winter child. Curses aren't certain. The hangman's noose is.” The man shook his head. Ryca's hand hadn't been shaking before, but Aderia saw it tremble now. She felt like throwing up.

 

“Gold,” Medin slurred. He was still wheezing with each breath and his voice didn't come out right. Aderia glanced back. His face was swollen. The two front teeth from his upper jaw were on the floor, in their place only a bloody gap. Medin spat out a mouthful of red and continued. “Times are hard. Nothing to smuggle. I've got gold. Mom's got more gold. Take us home. It'll be yours. All yours. As much as you can carry.”

 

Ryca slowly lowered her dagger but didn't put it away. Kael staggered forward. The bald man caught him by his arm and held him up. He yanked Kael's hood down and tugged sharply on his hair. He grabbed his chin and tipped his head up, stared down at his face. He grabbed his right side roughly, feeling for the stump there.

 

“Your prince's the real deal, alright. A crybaby like they say, too.” Laughter rung out around them. “But how do we know your gold's the real deal?”

 

“The pouch at my waist.” Medin said. Blood and drool were running from his mouth. Aderia thought he looked as dashing as ever. He was exuding more confidence than she had ever seen, despite a split lip and broken teeth. Aderia's heart ached for him, for Ryca who looked shaken, for Kael who seemed to be bordering on another panic attack in the bald smuggler's grasp.

 

The man with the shaved head nodded to one of the men holding Medin upright, a pale man with long dirty nails and a wispy mustache on his lip. He groped around at Medin's waist. There was far more groping than necessary. Aderia gritted her teeth but Medin kept his head up. Finally, the man's dirty hand closed around the pouch and pulled it free. He shook out some gold coins into his hand before biting into one of them.

 

“It's gold. Marked with a sun.”

 

“So that gold's proper and real. But we've been promised more,” the apparent leader lisped.

 

“Yes, and I make good on my promises. What do you know about Solfru?” Medin tilted his head. Aderia thought he was being indecently cocky for someone in his situation. The blood was still streaming from his face, steaming in the cold.

 

“I know you've got crazy pirate queens. I know you killed most of us, here. I know you're rich fuckers who look down on us because we don't have as much sun as you do.”

 

Medin smiled wider, showing the new addition to his grin. “I'm wearing something around my throat. Under my clothes. It's a heirloom. A gift from my mother. Please look at it.”

 

The bald guy nodded to the dirty-nailed man. Aderia hated how glad he looked to stick his hand down Medin's shirt. Again it took him longer than it should to find the necklace, large as it was. Medin's face remained calm as ever. Aderia chewed on her lower lip. If they weren't surrounded, if she wasn't on the floor, she'd cut them all down. Finally, he pulled out the golden four pointed sun, marked with a spiral. Aderia had seen it so often she didn't need to look to knew what it was.

 

“Alright, mommy's boy, what's the point of that? It's still not enough for us to keep you alive, much less escort you anywhere.” The bald man snorted.

 

“That's Sol. It's only royalty who have these symbols,” the dirty-nailed one shook his head, his eyes wide.

 

“The queen has eight points. The crown princess, too. Everyone else has four.” Medin's reply was flippant. His blood dripped onto the face of the gold medallion. It still took the bald man a moment, even with Medin spelling it out for him.

 

“You're a fucking prince too?!” He exclaimed, his excitement so high he shook Kael about. Ryca reached out to steady Kael, trying gently to pry the man's grip from his arm. Once the smuggler let go, Kael staggered away from him, and from Ryca. He stumbled to the ground. Aderia held out her hand to him, but he curled up on himself instead. His head shook slowly and he kept muttering to himself, disjointed and distant.

 

“You are a _genius_. I am indeed a 'fucking' prince. My mother is the Queen of Solfru and I promise you, if you bring me and my companions home safe to her, she will reward you. All of you. You may even be given work. Homes. Titles.” Medin promised, looking around at the armed and blankly staring men lined up around the walls.

 

“The prince of Solfru,” the dirty-nailed man laughed, rubbing Medin's arm in wonder as he gripped it. “The pussy prince, they call you here.”

 

Something in Medin's eyes flickered, and his charming (swollen, bleeding, gap-toothed) smile faded briefly. “That's a clever name! You guys are _so_ clever. But I go by Medin. If nobody minds.” He sounded as polite yet he said them in a tone as sharp and brittle as broken ice. Aderia's rage only burned hotter, when Medin's burned cold.

 

It seemed the promise of money made sure nobody minded. Medin was helped to his feet and searched. Aderia was pulled up too and her sword was taken away. Her fingers itched to close around the hilt but instead she took Medin's hand. Kael was pulled back up too and found to be unarmed. Ryca inhaled sharply when she was searched. But the dirty-nailed man didn't comment on her. His hands lingered, same as with everyone else, before taking her dagger.

 

After that, they were escorted out of the shed. Medin dove to the snow-covered ground and shoveled fresh snow against his face, stuffing his mouth with it. One of the men handed him a cloth. Medin muttered his thanks and filled the fabric with snow before pressing it to his face. The bleeding was slowing but he had dyed the white snow red.

 

 _Does it hurt?_ Aderia signed at him.

  
Medin just gave her a look of disbelief, and she nodded. Of course it hurt.

 

The shack was on the outskirts of a small village, surrounded by snow and dark pines. The sky overhead was gray with clouds. It was night but there were lanterns lit still, hanging from the log houses and the storage barn behind the shack they had exited. The houses were oddly placed, with large gaps between them. She saw cart and horse tracks in the snow running between the houses. When there was less snow, she supposed there were roads here. A large inn took up the most of the village. There was also a small roadside temple, topped with two miniatures of the Spires of Exile. Another building looked as if it was a smithy. Others looked like homes.

 

They were dragged past the inn and into a house. Two large ragged dogs rose from their resting place by the stove, snarling and barking. The bald man silenced them by kicking out at them. His boot connected with neither of the skinny animals, but they yelped and jumped out of his way regardless. If Aderia had still had her sword, she wouldn't have hesitated in putting it through his heart. This man deserved to die. That child hadn't.

 

The group sat down around the room, wherever they might. On chairs, benches or the animal hides on the floor. The four captives were forced down on the ground. Aderia clutched at Medin. Ryca was silent and shaking. She looked faint. Aderia wondered if she'd eaten recently. Kael was hiding his face in his hood, rubbing the wool against his face and rocking on the spot.

 

Medin's face had stopped bleeding and the swelling in his nose had gone down a little, but it must still hurt like hell. The snow in his rag was melting on his face, washing the blood out while settling the swelling.

 

“Sorry about the rough introduction,” the bald man spoke with his lisping voice. My name is Exor. I'm from around here. You're Medin, you're Kael. And the sweet young ladies here with you are...?”

 

Ryca cleared her throat. “My name is Ryca. This is Aderia. She can't speak, but she understands you.”

  
Aderia was grateful. People who didn't know assumed she was deaf, or simply dumb. She raised her hand in a little wave, though she felt far from happy about this. But if Medin had made up his mind and decided to depend on these people she supposed she'd have to tolerate it. For now.

 

“Right. Let's make things clear. You are my prisoners. My hostages. What I say is law. You won't be hurt if you're good. When we get to Queensport, you will tell your mommy that we saved your ass, and she'll pay us well. If we have a deal, we leave for South Harbor in the morning. If we don't have a deal, you leave for Exile in the morning tied up in the back of a wagon, and the Winter Council may decide what to do with you. We keep your gold, of course.”

 

The smugglers laughed. Aderia's eyes pricked with angry tears. Kael wasn't even looking up, just rocking and nuzzling the cloak. Ryca sat straight-backed with a cold expression, though her eyes looked tired. Medin stood and shook Exor's hand to seal the deal. “I'd kiss you to seal the deal, but you'd get blood on you.”

 

Exor grimaced and pulled his hand away. “If you tried, I'd rid you of your lips.”

 

Medin bowed his head and sat back down. The four spent the rest of the evening in silence. Aderia didn't even feel like signing anything. When they were fed tasteless but filling oatmeal. Even Ryca picked at it and ate a little. The color soon returned to her face, but Aderia watched her carefully to make sure she wouldn't throw up.

 

They were told to sleep on the ground. Aderia didn't mind that at all, after the tunnels. She laid down and pretended to fall asleep but kept an ear open. She didn't trust these people at all. She heard shuffling as the others tried to get comfortable. The smugglers slept where they sat, the dogs snored in a corner. She heard Ryca whisper to Medin, offering him herbs. He accepted, and soon he was snoring like the dogs.

 

More time passed. She pretended to sleep. Breathing slowly, turning now and then. She didn't think Ryca was sleeping and Kael likely wasn't either. They didn't even try to fake it.

 

Someone approached them. She heard the sneaking. Someone was trying not to be heard as the others slept. Her entire body tensed up, preparing for anything. There was a soft whisper somewhere behind her.

 

“The floor is hard, princess. You would sleep better in a bed.” She recognized the whisper. She thought of dirty long fingernails and lingering touches.

 

Kael didn't respond, but she heard his sharp intake of breath. He must be pretending to sleep too.

 

“It's warm and soft. Not like at the castle, but better than furs and planks.” The man insisted. Aderia's fingers itched for her blade. She itched for anything but uselessness. “You look just like her. Just like the painting in my old mama's house, same eyes... Laela loved everyone, they say. Do you-”

 

Aderia heard a rustle of cloth, and Ryca clearing her throat. “I'm sorry, but some of us are trying to sleep.” She said, sounding grumpy as though she had been woken, though she was clearly angry for other reasons.

 

“Yes,” Kael agreed, his tone trembling. “I was sleeping well here before you woke me.” It was an obvious lie, but Aderia heard the man turn and walk off, muttering something rude about ungrateful bitches.

 

Aderia exhaled with a sigh, and rolled over to face Kael and Ryca. She waved them closer. Kael nodded and curled up close to her, sniffling. Ryca laid down at his back, and her hand reached over him to rest at Aderia's waist. She reached over too, resting hers on Ryca's back. Together, their arms formed a shield, a cage around the prince keeping the beasts out. Aderia didn't sleep, but after a while, she was sure both Kael and Ryca slept.

 

No one bothered them again that night. In the morning, as promised, they were on their way down to South Harbor in a cart. Only six of the smugglers came along. Enough to man a small ship. Maybe even enough to get a small ship safely to Queensport, if the weather didn't turn sour again.

 

Aderia wasn't very religious, but she prayed. For herself, for Medin, for Ryca, for Kael. Maybe Sol couldn't see them here in the dark night, under the heavy snow clouds. But she prayed, hoping that if she thought loudly enough, perhaps She would still hear.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I've gotten more hours at work and have recently gone through a move, so I've been pretty preoccupied. Don't worry, though. I'll get you guys through to the end. It's all written out already, I'm just making the final edits to post it all as I have the time and energy. Also check out [this link](http://mcalhen.tumblr.com/tagged/the%20stolen%20prince) to see some awesome illustrations for this story as drawn by my friend Cal.


	14. Chapter 14. Medin III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 contains:
> 
> Transphobia

**Chapter 14. Medin III**

**South Harbor, Ishem.**

 

The road to South Harbor was dull. Enough traffic had gone by after the snow storm that they rolled along fairly smoothly. Other than snow, there were farms, woods, small villages, roadside temples. It was cold outside, and only a little warmer in the covered carriage. Medin's moon blood had ceased just in time before he ran out of moss. Aderia was not so lucky but she had packed a spare pair of pants in his backpack. The bloodied and ruined ones they used for scraps.

 

His mouth no longer hurt and his lips and nose had returned to their normal size. After washing the blood off Aderia had told him he was still as handsome. Ryca had nodded awkwardly in agreement. His nose hadn't been broken and he still thanked Sol for that, but his front teeth would not come back. He whistled when he spoke. It nearly made him sound like Exor, the leader of their company of smugglers.

 

The four stuck to themselves. Medin had tried to make some effort to socialize with their captors. Not all of them were so bad. They had fallen on hard times as had the rest of Ishem. He wanted to impress and amuse them. Keeping them in a good mood was vital. If the smugglers stayed in a good mood, they might bring them home to Solfru alive. If their moods turned sour they might not arrive in Solfru at all. So he told them bawdy tales and sang dirty songs from Queensport and they laughed and clapped him across the back and gave him another mug of ale. But when they thought he couldn't hear they still called him pussy prince, and his companions worse things by far.

 

He slept with one eye open. Twice they stopped to make camp for the night and twice Medin didn't sleep. He watched the other three sleep, or pretend they slept, pressing close together for warmth and comfort. Medin himself napped in the carriage during the day when Aderia was awake instead.

 

Ryca didn't eat what everyone else did, but once it slipped out that she was quite a good cook she made all their evening meals. She carried so many herbs and spices in various pockets inside her robes that it was amazing that she remembered what everything was and how it tasted, and that she didn't grab hemlock or belladonna instead of thyme or ginger root or dried rowan berries.

 

While Medin was relieved that they hadn't been separated, he hated that they shared the carriage with four of the smugglers, while one of them rode behind and another one ahead of them. It made conversation awkward at best, and impossible at worst. Some of their captors seemed far more suspicious than others and wouldn't let them use sign language at all. And of course, Kael didn't know their signs anyway, so to strictly converse silently automatically left him out. They had no room to plan or discuss the future, unless they wanted Exor to know exactly what they were saying.

 

The six smugglers circulated their duties on the way south and circulated their horses as well. Aderia took it upon herself to groom the animals when they stopped to rest. They were strong horses made for pulling heavy carts and farm tools, and not the slender, graceful horses Medin was used to riding around Sun City on. They moved slowly but steadily forward. Soon before sunset on the second day since heading out from the Crossroads, they rolled into South Harbor.

 

South Harbor was a city of gray stones and steep slate roofs. It was the middle point between Eld and Exile, where goods shipped down from Eld were stored and moved on for transport, by another ship if the weather in Tooth Bay was favorable, or by road if it wasn't. It was a little warmer down here, and the air smelled of the ocean, and of sulfur and smoke from the volcano. It took barely a day to sail from Eld to South Harbor, Medin was told by one of the smugglers whose name he soon forgot. A friendly man with a great red beard and a greater stomach.

 

The entire city of South Harbor could have easily fit into the lowest levels of Queensport. Houses and warehouses and shops stretched along the many piers facing the icy steel gray sea. There was one main street going from the west of the city to the east. The road from the Crossroads met the main street somewhere near the middle. They could see straight out to sea from the main street. Despite the darkened sky, Medin could just about make out the jagged sharp outline of The Jaws to the south, and to the west, and to the east. The row of stone teeth wrapped all the way around Ishem, and curved gently to mark the horizon. The peaked rooftops of South Harbor seemed to mirror the pointed cliffs far out in the sea.

 

Medin was just about to pull his head back through the pelts covering the door and into the carriage when Exor, who had been riding up front for the final stretch, dismounted and approached the carriage.

 

“Out with all of you. You're coming with me to get a ship. Dari and Salt, sell the horses and cart and get provisions.” Exor ordered. The red-bearded man and a large, blonde woman with a sparse beard (who looked like she might be related to Ochre, the thin-mustached man with disgusting nails) obeyed, leading their three horses away once the cart had been emptied of people and baggage.

 

The remaining group of eight trudged along. Ryca was holding Kael's hand, stroking the back of it with her thumb. The two seemed to have gotten very close and Medin couldn't help but feel jealous. For all of his attempts, Kael didn't seem to react as well to him as he did to Ryca, even after Ryca nearly slit his throat a few days ago. Medin hadn't seen it himself but he had worked it out later, watching Aderia and Ryca talk about it when the less stingy captors were guarding them. Medin felt left out.

 

Maybe they blamed him for all of this. It had been stupid to burst through that door so loudly... but he had gotten them out of the situation! Ryca's attempt at solving it hadn't worked at all, and probably just put them in more danger. Not to mention, back in the Crossroads, there were still several people who knew not only where Kael had gone, but who had taken him. For all Medin knew, they might have already reached Exile on horseback, and informed the Winter Council. It could have stayed a secret, if Ryca hadn't done what she did. This mess wasn't Medin's fault, or at least not only his fault.

 

They were stuck with six smugglers, hard and tough by the looks of them. At least one of them seemed utterly uncaring if they lived or died as long as he was paid, and at least one that wouldn't mind getting any of them in bed, seemingly without minding much how they felt about the matter. They were unarmed. But they were alive. Medin was two teeth short, but alive. He'd keep them alive.

 

The ground rumbled under their feet, and everyone stopped. The smoke billowing in the northwest seemed thicker. Kael whispered more prayers into his cloak. It seemed that was all he did lately. Medin saw one of the smugglers, a wrinkled man with reddish, inflamed skin, pray too. Some of the sailors and harbor workers around them stopped, bowed their heads and whispered words of submission and fear. Medin grasped at the gold sun hanging from his throat. Maybe Sol held no power here, but it couldn't hurt to try.

 

The harbor was full of ships, loaded and ready to go the moment the port in Exile opened again. Sailors milled about as restlessly as they had in Exile, muttering and cursing. A ship took off as Medin watched – one that must be headed either back to Eld, or to some other port in some other land.

 

It didn't take much to convince one of the captains to take their money, with the promise of far more once they reached home. Medin paid, of course. It helped that Exor promised that his gang were capable sailors and would demand no pay for the journey. All the money would go to the captain. The hungry-eyed captain didn't even bother having the ship unloaded before allowing them to board. He hoped to sell his cargo of steel and sulfur in Sun City, instead.

 

The ship wasn't very big, made for a smaller crew of no more than twelve. The two crew cabins weren't large and had only hammocks, save for the captain's cabin. Medin was tempted to demand he get the captain's cabin on account of his title, but it seemed the silent rule for this situation was that the sea captain wasn't to know about his title. So he kept his mouth shut.

 

He had hoped that the four of them would at least get a cabin to themselves, but they were split up. It was Salt, the warrior-like blonde woman with a beard, who suggested one cabin for the men and one for the women. That meant six people to one cabin, and four to the other. Medin was anxious to learn which cabin he would be considered to belong to. He saw Ryca's face turn pale and she held Kael closer to her for a second.

 

“The princes to the left, then, and the ladies to the right.” Exor grunted.

 

Medin breathed a sigh of relief. But seeing the smirk on Ochre's face, he wasn't sure he should feel too relieved. But he saw the obvious relief on Aderia's and Ryca's faces... they, at least, might be safer. As long as Aderia was good, Medin was good. And Medin would take care of Kael, too. He did owe it to him. As the hero, as a prince... as the person who had dragged him away from everything he knew and landed him on a ship with these people. He held out his hand, and Kael let go of Ryca to come to him. He didn't take his hand, but he let Medin lead him into the cabin.

 

The smugglers turned sailors worked in shifts. Three of them manned the sails during the days, the other three during the night. Exor and Dari, the fat man with a red beard, along with Missy, the bald pale woman with a round face, worked during the night. Ochre and his sister Salt worked the days together with Roggy, a religious pimple-faced man with so many wrinkles around his mouth he looked like the short-snouted dogs popular with Solfruan nobles.

 

Ryca was again allowed to take care of the cooking, now with Aderia's help. Kael stayed below deck unless the skies were overcast. It was cold out on the sea, but the sun could beat down mercilessly. Medin, who didn't much like any of their captors and who distrusted their captain, stuck with Kael down in the cabin, or loitered in the caboose with Aderia and Ryca.

 

The first two days had been hard to get used to. The hammock proved difficult to get into, but comfortable to sleep in. It wrapped around him tightly like a cocoon, and even with the sways and rolls of the waves, he slept comfortably. He helped Kael lace his boots in the morning. They had cleared the Jaws the night before. Medin had looked back as they did to see the faint light of lanterns in Exile. Ryca had been in the cabin trying not to vomit, and Aderia had been with her, of course. Kael had been glued to the railing and Medin had described the view to him, since he couldn't see very well.

 

One morning, the third at sea, the captain confronted the two princes.

 

“Scrub the deck. The two of you do your fair share. You scrub, or you climb the rigging.”

 

Kael protested, but the captain insisted he'd do his fair share of work somewhere, or he'd be flogged as any sailor. So Kael yielded, kneeling and putting his weight on the scrubbing brush. It looked awkward. He scrubbed, then crawled forward. Scrubbed, then crawled. He couldn't quite seem to get his balance right.

 

Medin knelt down and scrubbed. He hadn't thought it would be so hard, scrubbing floors. The servants in Brightcastle always chattered happily to one another as they did. But there were hundreds of servants there, and only two princes here, cleaning a splintery wooden deck rather than smooth stone.

 

His hands were blistered soon and his knees ached, and his shoulders and neck too. After about an hour he'd wrestled off his coat and sat on it to spare his knees, deciding to live with the cold rather than bruised legs. He cursed under his breath. The clouds parted above their heads, and while the sun didn't give much respite from the biting salty wind, it was soon giving him a headache.

 

He heard a thud. His coat and pants were soaked as a splash of water washed over the deck. He turned to see Kael slumped on the overturned water bucket. He was shaking and his teeth clattered. Medin crept over to him and stroked his hair back, feeling his forehead.

 

“Shit, you're burning up!” Medin picked him up easily. He weighed nothing.

 

Kael's face was red in spots and looked sore. His hand, too. He was shaking with fever. Medin mumbled an apology for the humiliation and slung him over his shoulder so he could get him down the narrow, steep stairs to the cabin. He tucked Kael into his hammock with the gray wool cloak.

 

“Hang on, winter child,” He had heard the smugglers use the term, but Medin wasn't sure what it meant. But it suited him. “I'll get help.”

 

He rushed for the caboose, for Ryca. She would know what to do. But halfway up the stairs again, his path was blocked by the captain. The sturdy man frowned down at him from under his massive mustaches.

 

“The deck's not scrubbed, it's soaked with water and there's a coat and a bucket laying around, waiting for some poor bastard to fall over them and break their neck. I was told you'd work til we get to Queensport, not laze around like-”

 

“I don't have time! Yell at me later!” Medin pushed past the portly captain and hurried on. The captain didn't listen and kept yelling at him right then instead, even as he rushed across the wet deck and to the caboose.

 

The stairs down into the ship kitchen were as narrow and steep as those to the cabins yet he took them in three long leaps. The kitchens were hot and filled with smoke and steam. Wood burned in the stove, and a large pot of something meant for their midday meal was boiling on top of it. Aderia was carving up an apple as he landed on the last step. She looked up, kitchen knife in her hand, an apple slice in her other. Ryca reached for the slice, about to eat.

 

For a moment, Medin realized there were weapons in the caboose. Knives. Not their swords and daggers that were left behind in the Crossroads, probably pawned off to some traveler already, but weapons nonetheless. But even if they armed themselves they were outnumbered and with no place to run, unable to sail a ship on their own... no, they needed to stick to the plan.

 

Ryca cleared her throat. “Did you come down here for something?”

 

Medin nodded. “Kael's sick.” His words hissed and whistled through the gap in his teeth. “He collapsed on deck. Fever. All red. Blistered face.”

 

Ryca swore under her breath and handed Aderia her apple back. She filled up a much smaller pot with water from a barrel and set it on the stove to boil it. “He was working in the sun? And you let him? You irresponsible, fickle, ignorant...!” She wasn't looking at him, not turning to him. She violently threw herbs into the boiling water, punishing the dried plants for Medin's mistakes.

 

He knew he deserved every bit of it, but her tone still made him flare up. He clenched his blistered hands into fists. “You tried to slit his throat!”

 

“I was trying to save all of our lives from the situation you and your shortsightedness put us in!” Ryca turned to him now, screaming. There was fire in her eyes and Medin shuddered. Aderia reached out to take Ryca's arm gently, trying to soothe her. The jealousy he felt was almost worse than the burning shame.

 

“You have a funny way of saving people's lives, witch.” Medin bit back. He wanted to slap himself for it, the moment he realized what he'd said. But Aderia did instead, striking him so hard he saw stars and staggered against the wall. He groaned and rubbed his cheek. “I deserved that.” He muttered in surrender.

 

_Yes, you did. You jerk_ , Aderia signed back, before hugging him tightly. Then she shoved him aside and hugged Ryca, too. She relaxed a little, until she turned to look at Medin again and stiffened.

 

“You have us stuck in the ocean with a band of thieves, rapists and thugs, and you act like this was your plan all along. You think you are the hero, my prince. But you are not keeping us alive, or even safe.” Ryca said, pouring the steaming infusion into a copper mug. She pulled out an oiled pouch from her coat. Medin peeked inside it when she thrust it in his hand.

 

Ryca explained. “It's a balm. Apply it to the burns. Have him drink that tea slowly. Make sure he rest. No more sunshine. I mean it.”

 

Medin nodded silently, chastised by her words. All true. He was doing a terrible job at this, and it stung to realize. He had to do better. And for now, that meant playing nurse, not prince, not hero.

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15. Kael IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 contains:
> 
> Sexual harassment  
> Disease  
> Death

**Chapter 15. Kael IV**

**A merchant ship, East Sea.**

 

Kael had fever dreams, waking and sleeping fitfully. He would toss and turn but his hammock wrapped tightly around him, restraining him. He was dimly aware of someone at his side, sometimes it was Medin but sometimes it looked like Marett instead. They coaxed him to drink bitter medicine or hot soup, and rubbed something that smelled awful on his face and hand. Then he sank back into the cold dreams, his teeth clattering and grinding together.

 

_He was buried deep under snow. His body slowly froze solid and shattered and he screamed in pain. He became one with the shimmering white cold. It was so quiet and peaceful after the pain of breaking apart. His mind lingered with the ice crystals that were once his body. The sun rose over the snow, blindingly bright. The snow melted and so did Kael. He was water. He seeped into the ground, filtering through soil and animal bones and rocks. Roots devoured him and he splintered further. He flowered and bloomed and shoot up toward the sun. He sank further and joined the underground streams. He rushed out into lakes and into rivers and flowed out into the ocean. He became Ishem, all of it, and he fed the crops and trees. He watered and fed animals and people. He became the rain that beat down over the crops and froze into snow over the Belt, falling over its peaks and ridges and open mines. He was sailing slowly through the air, whirling and tumbling and shimmering. He saw the face of Is in the mountains, in the winds. He saw the God and landed in his hands, where he stopped melting. Is looked just like Marett, and he was home. The cold hands closed gently around him, a single snowflake that held his entire being. All was dark and silent._

 

When he woke, it was night. His fever had broken and he felt parched and disgusting. His tongue was dried to the roof of his mouth. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. His right eye had glued shut and he wiped at it, trying to open it. Everything hurt. His lungs, his throat, his head. He had been hit by the sun sickness often, but not like this. This had to be something else, too. He hadn't been ill much since getting to the Spires, though he remembered often staying in bed back on Eld. His little sisters, still too young to work in the smelter or the smithies or the shipyard, had to care for him while his parents and older siblings worked.

 

He didn't see Medin at his side. He had to be sleeping in the hammock over him. It looked occupied, but it was hard to tell in the low light. The lantern hanging from the ceiling was dimmed. He heard a whistling snore. Yes, that must be Medin and the gap in his teeth. The other hammocks in the cabin were empty. It was around shift change, then. Exor and Dari must have recently woken and left. Those who had worked during the day, Ochre and Roggy, would be coming down to sleep soon.

 

Kael struggled to get out of his hammock. His body was slow and sluggish and he reeked of sweat and fever. He managed to climb out but ended up falling to the floor when the ship heaved and the hammock tipped over. The impact sent him into a fit of dry coughing. He rose slowly and fished the cloak out of his hammock. He needed a drink of water so he headed for the caboose. He couldn't tie his boots on his own without resorting to using his teeth in addition to his hand, and he was too thirsty to waste time on that. He simply wrapped Marett's wool cloak around himself over his sweat-stained linen clothes. They seemed to hang looser on him than ever before. He ended up holding his pants up with one hand, keep his cloak on with his teeth, and lean his shoulder against the wall for support as he stumbled up the stairs.

 

The winds were strong up on deck, and the air icy. He nearly slipped, his bare feet going numb on the salt-sprayed wood. The sails had been tied down to protect them from the storm. He couldn't hear anything but the howling wind until he made it down into the caboose. There it was hot and stuffy but at least not windy.

 

He saw Ryca, sitting on a wooden stool with her feet pulled up on the seat and her head between her knees, breathing heavily and slowly. He padded over silently to one of the barrels of water, filling the brass scoop full of the lukewarm water and drinking thirstily. He downed another three scoops before walking over to Ryca and taking one of her hands in his. She jerked and looked up at him, eyes wide.

 

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you... thought you'd hear me coming despite the storm. Or at least smell me...” His voice sounded as dry and wrung out as he felt but he tried to smile at her. He wasn't sure why she was so upset, but he could guess at a great many reasons for it.

 

“It's okay. I'm just... I don't like storms much.” She smiled up at him. Her lips were unpainted, and the kohl she wore around her eyes looked smudged and old. Kael didn't know much about makeup, but he knew enough about Ryca to know she wasn't feeling well.

 

“Breathe with me.” Kael said. They breathed together for a long time, and when they were done, his legs shook. He sat down on the floor. “I'm sorry. I feel weak.”

 

“You've had a fever for four days. That's hardly unexpected. Have you been treated well? Prince Medin is hardly the most responsible man. And the others...” She was adjusting her coat, thumbing at a loose thread on her sleeve. Kael recognized the gesture and bit his lip.

 

“I don't remember. But I'm alive... so he could not have been too irresponsible, I suppose. He fed me, helped me to the chamber pot... he said nothing of my scar, either, that I remember. He has been caring.” He had to admit that much, at least. Each time he had woken for the last... wow, four days? Medin had been right there to soothe him and feed him and send him back to rest. So it wasn't surprising Medin was sleeping heavily now. “How are you doing?”

 

Ryca smiled bravely. “As well as you might expect. The smugglers are busy. There is not too much time for any of them to cause problems. Although...” She seemed to hesitate before continuing. “I think the illness may have spread. Though not as bad, the twins have been feeling it.”

 

Kael smiled a little. Perhaps it was mean of him, but he didn't feel bad for getting them sick. But... “What of Medin? He's been caring for me.”

 

Ryca laughed. “We have a saying, on Dim. Some people are too slow to catch a fever.”

 

“ _You_ shouldn't get close to me, then,” Kael smiled at her, and she looked flattered. “Though it can't be true. I got sick, I mean.”

 

Ryca looked like she was ready to dispute that, when Ochre and Salt trudged down into the caboose, windblown and surly-looking. Ochre was coughing and his eyes looked hazy. Kael rose from the floor and stood back, getting out of their way swiftly. He remembered the two dogs in Exor's cabin.

 

Salt went straight for the pot on the stove and filled two bowls without greeting or acknowledging either Kael or Ryca. There was always something cooking so that hungry sailors could refill their energy. Kael wondered if Ryca slept in here. If she slept at all.

 

He didn't have time to wonder for long before Ochre grabbed him by the arm, inspecting his hand and then reaching for his face. Kael shrugged back, not wanting those dirty fingers anywhere near him, but Ochre held tight.

 

“Winter child! I'm glad to see you back with the living. Whoever heard of an Ice Prince catching a fever? Coughing and wheezing all night and all day... louder than this fucking storm, you are.” Ochre smiled unpleasantly, pausing only to allow his sister to feed him a spoonful of salted fish soup. He grimaced at the taste and continued without letting go. “How are you gonna make it up to us for all those sleepless nights?”

 

Kael glanced past him at Ryca. She must have seen the silent call for help on his face, because she cleared her throat and stood, walking closer to them both. “Poor thing. Your throat sounds even sorer today... and your nose is running. Let me make you some hot tea, and I will let you have a taste of my pipe.”

 

This seemed to amuse Ochre. He let go of Kael's arm, letting him shrink into the shadows.

 

“Prince Kael. Have some soup. From the left pot, it's better for your stomach, and right back to bed. You're not well enough to be up.” She turned to Ochre again, lowering her voice. “Perhaps your sister could give us some privacy.”

 

Kael couldn't believe his eyes when Ryca practically draped herself over Ochre from behind, rubbing his narrow shoulders slowly. Salt grumbled and left at Ochre's nod. Kael was more reluctant.

 

“Ryca...?” He hovered near the stove, reluctant to get a bowl because then he'd have to leave her alone with Ochre and his dirty fingers.

 

Her smile was strained and her eyes cold when she turned to him. “Go on.”

 

Kael nodded silently, too frightened to protest. He made himself a bowl of soup as instructed and headed back out onto the deck.

 

-

 

Over the next few days, Kael felt better and better. He wasn't made to scrub the decks anymore, but was told to clean the cabins and the caboose instead. Medin was more gentle with him, often checking in on him. It was annoying, but he did appreciate it. Medin may have kidnapped him, but he and his friends were certainly the lesser of two evils. His kinder captors.

 

Morale sank as it was found they had been blown way off course by the storm and were no longer following the coast around the larger of the Crown Islands, but were nearing the smaller Crown to the east. It declined further when several of the smugglers took ill after Kael, with many similar symptoms. Ochre had gotten it worst, throwing up frequently. It seemed Ryca's teas would only soothe him for a moment, but they were still the only thing keeping him alive, Ryca said.

 

Kael didn't say anything about Ryca and Ochre. It was no one else's business, as much as it confused Kael. He wanted to ask her about it when no one else was around, but it seemed Aderia or Medin was always there. He didn't know any silent, secret languages like the others did. He wanted to know if she actually liked Ochre – and if so why, when he was such a slimy creep – or if she was using him for something.

 

Ochre died after three days. Ryca didn't seem very upset, but Ochre's sister did. The sister was sick too, and if what Ochre had suffered from killed him, why wouldn't it kill everyone else who had it? She made Ryca use up almost all her stock of medicine to try to cure this fever.

 

The cabin arrangements were changed, with all the sick isolated in one cabin. This left Ryca, Kael, Medin, Aderia and Missy the only healthy people in one cabin. Missy was surly and had a frightening face, but she wasn't bad, not like the others.

 

Many were too ill to take up any work at all. It was hard work trying to turn the ship against the wind into Sun City, and they needed all men who could work to make it happen. The morning after Ochre had been found dead, Salt fell from the rigging. Whether she had jumped to her death or had passed out from fever and fallen wasn't clear. She was tossed overboard, as her brother had been. The captain didn't want any corpses on his ship to stink up the merchandise.

 

Soon after their second haphazard funeral, land was sighted on starboard's side. It wasn't Sun City... it wasn't even Solfru.

 

“That's Dim,” Ryca whispered next to Kael, pointing. He squinted but it was too bright in the sunlight, and the air was too hazy to make out any contours. He had the hood of Marett's cloak pulled up over his head so that all of him was shaded from the sun. Even then, he was already feeling the growing discomfort of sun sickness.

 

To his other side, Aderia grinned and signed excitedly. Kael was trying to see patterns. To correlate signs with possible meanings.

 

Medin nodded at her. “I have always wanted to see it too.”

 

The captain called for them to make port. It was their only option, with two men down and three gravely ill and ready to join the dead at any moment. Medin and Aderia and even Ryca and their mustachioed captain helped to land the ship at the pier. Exor tried to cross the bridge first onto the stony shore of the misty island of Dim. He fell dead into the water.

 

Kael mumbled a prayer, same as he had for the deaths of the others, and he saw Roggy do the same. Aderia tried not to look at his floating corpse, while Dari and Medin were staring with interest. Ryca looked away pointedly with a tense expression. Secretly, Kael was relieved.

 

Later that evening, Kael had washed himself and settled into a cell-like bedroom in the cave monastery of the Eye. The cells on either side of his own were occupied by Medin and Aderia. Ryca had her own cell, and didn't have to sleep in the visitor hall. Kael was sitting on the bunk and trying to braid his own wet hair back, when the woven fabric in the doorway parted and Medin poked his head in.

 

“Dari and Roggy just passed on. There was nothing the priests could do for them. We're off the hook... and without a ship. The captain's not letting us back on. Apparently we're bad luck.” Medin brought the news with a shrug.

 

Kael nodded silently. For a moment he was afraid that Medin would invite himself in, but he only lingered in the doorway for an awkward moment. “Okay. Good night, then. Sweet dreams, my prince.”

 

All the smugglers but one had died. They had died from whatever he had brought onto the ship. Perhaps this was Is' curse. He didn't want the curse to affect Medin, Aderia and Ryca. The three might have abducted him too. But he'd come to rather like them. Ryca, in particular. Sleep came to him late, and didn't stay for very long, as he pondered when the curse would catch up with his friends.

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16. Ryca IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 contains:
> 
> Mentions of abuse  
> Mentions of murder

**Chapter 16. Ryca IV**

**Monastery of <o>, Dim, East Sea.**

 

 _What will happen to his dogs?_ Aderia asked sadly. They were sitting in one of the caverns under the monastery of  <o>, in the sulfurous hot springs which were the source of the steam rising up all around the island, making Dim perpetually misty.

 

“What dogs?” Medin asked, sinking deeper in the milk white, steaming water until the surface nearly touched his softly rounded breasts. He leaned back with his elbows resting on the edge of the spring.

 

_That smuggler's dogs. In the cabin. Now that he's dead._ Aderia's fluffy hair was even tighter curled than usual due to the humidity of the caverns and the whole island itself. Medin's hair did the same thing, though he complained about it while Aderia didn't.

 

“I suppose someone else will care for them.” Ryca answered carefully, though there was no way of knowing. Aderia had always had such a soft spot in her heart for animals. “In a small village like that, people stick together. And there were other smugglers that we left behind. They will know about the dogs for certain.” The water was up to Ryca's chin. She had gotten in first, too, and she planned on getting out last. Luckily the water in the springs wasn't clear, so all of her remained hidden.

 

“Dog! That sign means dog?” Kael exclaimed excitedly, his voice echoed back to them from the rocks. Then he blushed and closed his mouth again. “Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I just... realized.” He brushed back a stray strand of hair. His white hair had been braided (by Aderia, in fact), wrapped around his head and pinned up to keep it out of the water.

 

_It's fine, Kael. I can teach you if you want_ . Aderia signed with a brilliant smile, and Ryca translated by voice.

 

Kael shrugged, rubbing the stump and jagged scar where his right arm had been taken off. “It's okay. I don't learn things very fast. And I'll go back soon anyway. Even if I could learn to understand it, I couldn't sign right...” His voice got lower and lower as he mumbled.

 

_Maybe you don't have to go back._ Aderia signed, and Ryca hesitated to translate it. She didn't want to give Kael such a hope... or let Aderia think that was a possibility. No matter how much they had been through together, no matter how they got along now, Kael remained their prisoner. His fate would be in the hands of Queen Melara when they delivered him to her.

 

“Yeah! Maybe you don't have to! I'll talk to mom, Kael. Maybe she'll let you do whatever she wants you to, and then you can stay with us.” Medin exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together with a wet smack.

 

Ryca sighed and looked away, wishing she had thought to bring her pipe down here. Returning home meant finally having a change of clothes, which meant she hadn't bothered to fill her pockets up again. The dark robe laying discarded on the stone by the natural basin was very light, its pockets empty.

 

Kael paled and looked down, shaking his head and muttering a prayer. He had been praying more and more lately, more and more desperately. It worried Ryca, but she had yet to have the opportunity to speak to him alone.

 

“I don't want to stay with you. I want to go home.” Kael said, but his words sounded empty. “I am to be married. I can't keep Is waiting for much longer. How much greater do you want his rage to become? And here I am, relaxing in the hot springs, while my country falls!”

 

Kael climbed out of the springs, grabbed his clothes, and pulled them on awkwardly, hindered by wet skin and a missing arm. Medin's gaze lingered before he nimbly jumped out of the springs and went up to him.

 

“Let me-” He reached out for him, trying to help pull up his pants.

 

“Don't touch me!” Kael cried, slapping Medin's hands away and nearly stumbling. He yanked them up crookedly and didn't even bother to pull his tunic down over his head before he stomped away, clutching the crumpled fabric in his hand.

 

Medin looked confused for a moment, before whistling through the gap in his teeth. “What's his problem, anyway?” He muttered, returning to the springs.

 

Ryca saw her chance, but she didn't want to get up and be _seen_. But she wanted to go after Kael. Finally she decided she didn't care. Aderia had seen her naked before, with her scars and prominent ribs. Ryca was ashamed for her own weakness of mind and didn't want Aderia to worry. Medin hadn't seen her naked before. But he was a friend of Aderia's and so, no matter how clueless he may seem, Ryca wanted to trust him too.

 

Her heart was beating hard in her chest when she stood. She tried to look as casual as she could. She felt their eyes linger as she climbed out of the rock basin, wiped herself dry, and pulled on her clothes. She stepped into her boots and dried her hair with the towel, until it at least stopped dripping.

 

“I will speak to him. Enjoy your bath,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady before turning to leave. Just before she left the caverns and headed up through the monastery, she heard Medin whisper loudly to Aderia.

 

“Is she okay?”

 

Ryca didn't know what Aderia's answer was, what it might be. She resisted the urge to turn around and watch them converse silently. She would have to speak to Aderia later, explain. But now she was needed more elsewhere.

 

She found Kael not in the sparse cell assigned to him, but in the stone gardens. Like most everything on Dim that wasn't only ruins, it lay in a cave. It was accessible by several smooth, worn staircases cut out of the rock.

 

The Gardens were inside the hills, just underneath the spot where one of the springs broke ground on the surface. Fresh water trickled down through the rocks. Inside the large, humid cavern there were levels and levels of herb gardens, fruits, mosses, fungi and greenery growing along the edges of the streams and hanging out through the holes in the cave wall. There were also holes in the ceiling where light filtered in and butterflies and birds flew through. Bats came in at dawn and fled deep into cracks and dark roosts in the rock and fled again at nightfall, getting their fill of the butterflies that settled in to rest at the same time. At night, the cavern was full of the high pitched squeaks of bats and the flickering light of the fireflies and glowing worms that lived in the dense green.

 

Kael was sitting in the shade on the cave floor and leaned back against a low stone wall. He still hadn't managed to put his shirt on. Further down the sloping twisting cavern, down in the poison gardens, a pair of novice priests were discussing the plants in low voices. It sounded like they were trying to find the right plants for some task. A class assignment, Ryca deduced.

 

She took a seat by Kael, sitting down on the smooth, worn stone next to him. He had picked a bright orange flower and twirled it in his hand. He rubbed the soft petals against his face like he would that wool cloak that had belonged to his guardian. He must have left the cloak in his cell. Dim was warm and humid and not the place for wearing wool, even as winter approached.

 

“Marigold?” she asked. He didn't move away as she sat down. She took that as a good sign. “They are used for skin problems and infections. Tasty, too.”

 

Kael glanced at her. “Why do you bother?” He asked, sounding tired but not angry.

 

“Bother? With what?”

 

“With me. When this is all over and done with, I'm going home. I have to. We'll never see each other again. So what's the point of being nice to me? Of trying to teach me things? You're not my mother, or my teacher.” Kael wouldn't look at her now. His gaze was fixed on the flower in his hand. He ground the petals together between his thumb and forefinger, dyeing his fingertips yellow.

 

“Because maybe you need a mother and a teacher, but more so a friend. Because I like you. Because you're a good person.” Ryca replied, after a moment of consideration. She gently picked a petal Kael hadn't yet crushed and ate it. That drew a quick smile from him, but it faded fast enough.

 

“Am I? All those people died, and the storms... Marett is worried about me, or d-dead, and I'm here on vacation.” He threw the crushed flower to the floor and wiped his fingers off on the shirt that lay crumpled in his lap.

 

“We are not here for leisure. If that captain hadn't been such a coward, we would have landed in Queensport already. We have no choice but to wait here for the next ship.” Ryca said firmly, taking his hand between hers. Kael accepted her touch. His hand felt cold, even colder than her own.

 

“He was afraid. Of me. Of the curse. Everyone died because of me. And soon, even more people will. I have to get back. What if... what if it spreads? To you. To everyone here.” Kael was shaking now, his voice trembling. His eyes were watery, but his face tense like he was holding back tears.

 

Ryca wasn't sure what to tell him. The voices of the two novice priests in their brown robes could barely be heard now as they moved further down into the sprawling gardens. She lowered her voice.

  
“The smugglers didn't die because of any curse or illness or by _any_ fault of yours. If I knew you'd blame yourself, I would have been more cautious.”

 

Kael looked up at her, looking very confused. He was frowning and his gaze flickered erratically. She could tell he was trying to figure out what she had said. What it meant.

 

“You deserve to know, since you insist on taking responsibility for it. But no one else can know. Prince Medin wouldn't understand. Aderia might, but she'd feel awful. And if she doesn't understand... I can't have her hating me. Please. I couldn't live with that.” Ryca was terrified of it. Her heart beat too slow and she felt like she might throw up. She felt naked, no, worse, she felt flayed. All of her bared for Kael to see. She wasn't sure why she trusted him. Perhaps because he reminded her so of herself as a child.

 

“What are you talking about?” Kael asked, but Ryca could tell from the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the hardness in his eyes, that he understood. He was clever. She had been too, but not in any way that had helped her.

 

“The smugglers let me cook for them. And I studied here. No. Even before I came to Dim. I have always been very interested in plants. Their properties, their powers. Powers to heal... and powers to hurt.” She wasn't saying it very well, she knew. But the words wouldn't come out the way she wanted them to. She was too scared.

 

Kael pulled his hand free of her grip. “You... poisoned me?”

 

“No!” She exclaimed in horror, louder than she meant to. The word bounced back at them from all directions, and she cringed. “No,” she repeated in a whisper, “I only took the opportunity to poison _them_. I wanted it to seem natural if anyone survived. Missy did. She didn't like my cooking, and the captain was so picky with his food. You, Aderia, Prince Medin, I fed you from another batch. And Ochre... I added more to his tea, to make sure he'd never survive.”

 

“I thought it was my fault...” Kael looked relieved for a moment but then his face tightened in anger again. “Ryca! How could you?! Five people, just like that!”

 

“They deserved it.” She set her face into a cold mask.

 

“All of them? Every single one of them deserved to die in such an awful way?” His eyes were spilling over with tears and Ryca felt disgusted. With herself for upsetting him. With him for not understanding. For daring to mourn them.

 

“There are good people and there are evil people in this world, Prince Kael.” Her words were carefully measured. “If the gods won't judge the evil ones, then perhaps we must.”

 

He laughed. A sharp, shrill, frightened squeak of a laughter, more a spasm than a sound of mirth. “And you are a good person? You have that right to judge?!”

 

Ryca pulled away defensively, wrapping her arms around herself. “Maybe not. But I try to be. Everything I did, I did to protect you. To protect Aderia, to protect Prince Medin! Know that not a single one of those monsters would have batted an eye if you were hurt! They would have joined in, laughing.”

 

She was yelling. She didn't mean to yell and she didn't mean to tremble, but she had thought that of all people, Kael would understand this. Perhaps her assumptions about his past had been wrong. Perhaps she had been unfair on his guardian. Perhaps the entire Council wasn't as corrupt and evil as she'd been told. Perhaps Prince Kael was far more innocent than she had thought, than she could ever be again.

 

“And Is would have struck them down for it! You... you fool. Ryca. I don't need your protection like this. I don't want it. Why would you ever ruin yourself for me?” Kael was whispering, but she heard him clearly. “I don't deserve it.”

 

He hugged her, and she cried, and she told him everything she had never told anyone else. She told him of her teacher, when she was only a child. She told him of years of manipulation and abuse. She told him of how special she had felt at first, how loved, then how tainted, how ruined, how scared. She told him of how she ended him to save others. He held her, and she felt lighter than ever before.

 

"Do you forgive me?" She asked, when she found her voice again. She had lost it somewhere in her story.

 

"It's not my place to forgive you", Kael said. "But if I was a god, I would. No. If I had that power, that man would have been struck down the moment he looked at you. I will take it up with my husband when we meet." He was trying to joke, to lighten the mood, and in that moment he reminded her not of herself but of Aderia. So young and so wise and so ferocious when hurt.

 

She sobbed again, and Kael let her cry until she was done. Then he began to tell her a story about a brave little witch with an evil master... she fell asleep soon, but it was an exciting story.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17. Aderia IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17 contains:
> 
> Mentioned sexual content  
> Shameless flirting  
> Discussion of eating disorders  
> Discussion of self harm  
> Drug use

**Chapter 17. Aderia IV**

**Dim, East Sea.**

 

Dim was beautiful in a wistful way. The surface of the island was barren and rocky and full of ruins. Aderia had explored it with Medin, riding on the near-horse sized, stubborn rams bred on the island.

 

“We've raised them here for centuries. Originally, they came from Karus, on merchant ships,” one of the blue-robed priestesses, some years older than Ryca and an expert in the history of the island, had told them. She was their guide, telling them all about the island with Medin translating Aderia's sign language questions to her. Though for an expert in history, she didn't seem to know much.

 

“We really don't know what all of these structures were. There are layers of civilizations here, built one on top of another. Some are thousands and thousands of years old.”

 

“They must have been built by gods, then!” Medin exclaimed excitedly.

 

“Other gods than yours, if that's the case,” the guide smiled cryptically.

 

Medin's expression soured and he suddenly lost interest in history. He thanked the guide, pressed some coins into her hand, and rode on ahead to the harbor. Aderia sighed and followed along, though she was still curious about these other gods.

 

Under the surface, people lived and studied and prayed and thrived. The only populated area above ground was the small harbor, where there was a market, some storehouses and an inn for visitors. Nearby there was a small fishing village, but even that was dug into the porous rock. They made their living off of fish, and off of the visitors to the temple who needed places to stay and food to eat and handiwork to bring home to their families.

 

The surface of Dim was cold and misty, without the heat from the warm springs and the lush vegetation of the rock gardens. Up here the grass grew sparse and hard. There were sharp-leaved ferns, a few twisted, yellowed olive trees and skinny-looking cypresses. And there were ruins from millennias past. Whitened pillars and crumbled rock walls, fallen and broken statues. Verdigris bronze gods lay half buried under tree roots and tufts of grass. The taller cliffs, where winds and weather scraped all plant life off the rock surface, made home to sea birds. Down by the harbor, crabs and seals rested on the stony beach. It was a beautiful island, and though Aderia preferred the sunny lands of Solfru, she rather envied Ryca for her home.

 

“There is a ship coming in from Queensport this night!” The innkeeper was a friendly man with a very loud voice. The first time they met him, they had told him they were looking for passage to Sun City, and he had promised to keep an ear out. Now he was yelling clear across the harbor as he saw them approach. When they came nearer and dismounted their goats, the man elaborated. “It'll return to Solfru in three days, if the weather's fair.”

 

Aderia and Medin waited in town for it to land, drinking and laughing together for the first time since leaving Sun City. They spoke about all and nothing. Medin drank heavier than Aderia did, but she relaxed and enjoyed herself too. The inn had a good sized bar for so small a town.

 

“Why does Kael hate me so?” Medin asked suddenly, and Aderia had to wonder what part of their previous conversation regarding amusing memories of the stuffy Queensguard captain at Brightcastle lead him to think about that.

 

_He doesn't hate you_ , she answered.  _But we did make a mess of things._

 

“At least you don't hate me.”

 

Medin kissed her and she kissed back, feeling the gap in his teeth with her tongue. They were drunk and their hands wandered, but they didn't go further, not like when they were younger and clung to one another like only lonely teenagers could.

 

When the merchant bélandre from Solfru arrived they waited on the docks, drunk and warm and holding hands. When the bridge was lowered and the visitors and crew landed, Medin approached the captain to buy them passage back to Solfru.

 

“The places are limited, and with ships coming to Dim so irregularly, it is good you make sure to get a spot early.” The handsome lady captain had the red-brown skin and hair typical for someone from the far Eastern Freja. She spoke with an intriguingly melodic accent. “But you have good money and good looks.”

 

Another round of drinks for the whole crew was called in, on Medin, of course. He was nearly seated on the captain's lap by then. Aderia wasn't sure how much of it was him attempting to make sure they had places on the ship, and how much of it was the alcohol.

 

“I come from a long line of sea captains myself,” Medin announced thickly. “I don't have it in me, though. Can't sleep on ships. Could you help me practice?”

 

Aderia could not believe that line worked, yet she watched Medin be carried off by the captain and onto the ship to the cheers of the crew. She groaned and returned to the monastery by herself. Her Karusi goat knew the way, and she only had to hold onto its horns as it navigated the steep hills and dense fog and darkness. She had drunk enough that just that was a difficult enough task on its own.

 

-

 

The morning before leaving, Ryca called Aderia to the stone gardens to help her gather supplies. Despite being in Ryca's home, they hadn't had much time together. Ryca was trying to catch up on her lessons, and catching up with her teachers and fellow novices. Aderia could tell she was embarrassed to be a novice still after so many years in the monastery. With Medin spending more time in town with his Frejan sea captain and her crew and Kael spending most of his time alone in his cell or in the stone gardens, Aderia had been lonely. Even the Karusi goats didn't seem to appreciate her company much.

 

_I feel like I haven't seen you much_ , Aderia signed when Ryca greeted her in the gardens.

 

“I'm sorry, Aderia,” the sign _sister_ danced in Ryca's graceful hands as she said her name. “I was gone from Dim longer than I meant to, and will leave soon again. I will fall even more behind if I didn't study while here.” There was avoidance in her eyes, and Aderia remembered the scars on her body, deep, straight lines of white and pink across olive skin. And the ways her ribs had stood out, her hip bones, her spine.

 

_I'm worried. Have you been eating?_ Aderia signed, as Ryca took out her book of herbs and plants.

 

“More lately, actually. You know I've had a hard time with it.” Ryca sighed. She had spoken of it in her letters. How food turned to ash in her mouth sometimes. How she imagined it spread from her stomach and into her flesh, creating some filthy barrier just under her skin. How perhaps she couldn't See yet was because she wasn't pure enough.

 

Aderia had tried to convince her to eat again, starting small. She had penned letters to her teachers on Dim, too, telling them of the situation and asking them to help. They had probably been more successful than Aderia had been, with only words and empty distance.

 

_And cutting._ Aderia gave her a sad smile.

 

“Less lately. The scars are older than they look.” Ryca looked embarrassed, staring down at her book as she flipped through the pages, as if this was a casual conversation. Yet she wouldn't look Aderia in the eyes, only glance up to see her hands signing.

 

_You didn't cut in school._

 

“I wouldn't have been able to hide it. So no, I used other means then.” Ryca sighed, finally looking up. Aderia was taken back by the cold anger in her dark blue eyes.

 

_Why?_ Aderia signed.  _Why do you hate yourself? You are perfect. You are my sister, and you don't deserve pain._ Her vision blurred. She would cry, but she didn't want to. She didn't want Ryca to have to bear the weight of her tears, along with everything else.

 

“It's not about causing pain, sister. It's about releasing pain. And I said, I don't do it anymore. I have no need to now. I have other ways.” Ryca lit her pipe in demonstration, sucking on it and slowly exhaling a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

 

_But you do hate yourself._ Aderia set her face in a firm expression, trying to make sure Ryca knew she didn't take this lightly. This was serious, and Aderia wouldn't tolerate Ryca suffering. She didn't deserve to. She had saved Aderia so many times, but she wouldn't let Aderia save her in return. Aderia looked up to her like a big sister, and it hurt seeing her this way. When she was out of that school, away from bullies, when she should have been happy, getting her own life.

 

“No. Aderia, I don't. I did, once. I am on speaking terms with myself now. I save my hate for those who deserve it.” Ryca laughed softly, and Aderia relaxed a little, hearing that laugh, seeing a smile form on her perfectly painted lips.

 

_Okay. Good. Thank you._

 

Ryca handed her the pipe and pointed to an illustration in her book, a lovely watercolor depicting a fire red flower with a thin, fuzzy stalk. “You will look for this one,” she turned the page and pointed to another plant, green with thick, tapering leaves and no flower, “and this one. Got it?”

  
Aderia nodded excitedly. Her worry eased as she smoked. Whatever Ryca put in her pipe, it worked wonders. Aderia handed it back after a few lungfuls, and then went off to look for plants, whistling gladly as she did. Once she had found them she harvested the needed parts and gave them to Ryca. Ryca would sort them into two separate baskets for later processing, and show her another couple of plants to find.

 

At some point during the day, Ryca must have recruited Prince Kael as well. He was also wandering back and forth between Ryca and the flowerbeds with plants. And soon he joined in Aderia's whistling with a song, soft and beautiful and delicate. It resonated through the caves and before too long, he had drawn a crowd. Novices and Seers alike swore they had heard his voice so far away in the tunnels as the catacombs. Curious visitors wandered in from the surface, saying they had heard the song from the surface of the island. His voice must have flown out through the openings in the ceiling of the rock garden. Kael turned bright red and hid his face in his hand when his song ended in applause, but Aderia saw the smile tugging at his lips.

 

“Yes, yes, that was beautiful. Now please allow us to go back to our harvest.” Ryca urged, smiling even as she shooed the unexpected audience away. Medin lingered by the entrance to the gardens.

 

“I heard you from the hot springs!” He exclaimed, walking right up to Kael and peering down at him. Aderia thought she saw some wonder in his eyes, too. “I didn't know you could sing, winter prince.”

 

Kael turned away from him with a shrug and went back to picking pinkweed mint. Medin narrowed his eyes for a moment before sighing and turning to Ryca instead.

 

“Is there anything I can do to help out?” He asked, and Aderia was sure she had never heard him use those words together before in her life.

 

Ryca looked a little surprised, but nodded before pointing at some other herbs they might need. “Look for this nettle. The brighter red the leaves are, the better. Cut them at the base of the stem. Careful with touching them or it will burn you. Here.” She took off her thin gloves and lent them to him.

 

Medin nodded his understanding and pulled the gloves on. They were a little large on him. He looked put off, glaring at the loose material at the end of his short fingers. Aderia giggled and handed in her Seer's Sage leaves.

 

The rest of the day proceeded the same. Medin told jokes and outlandish stories of his great adventures – Aderia knew they were all outright lies or massive exaggerations – but she laughed along with him. Even Kael smiled and laughed as Medin detailed his encounter with a dragon that had taken up residency in Brightcastle's treasure vault, which ended in him outsmarting the scaled beast with golden argan fruit laced with strong armasi rum.

 

-

 

Their journey by sea from Dim to Queensport was a far less dramatic and stressful experience than the trip to Dim from South Harbor. It was bittersweet, and Aderia stood in the stern of the boat, looking back into the thick mist until the island disappeared entirely from view. Soon after, the skies cleared and she could see nothing but blue skies and bluer waves.

 

Medin called them all over to four wooden crates tied together on the deck. He was laying out round ivory-and-stone cards on the crates, using them for a table as he set up a game of Hamrang. The other passengers on the ship soon joined in to play. This was how they spent the day-long journey to Sun City, gambling for small coins until the bélandre pulled in to port.

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18. Medin IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18 contains:
> 
> Ominous fluff

**Chapter 18. Medin IV**

**Queensport, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

“We should make for the castle first thing.” Ryca sighed with relief once they set foot in the cobbled sloped alleys of Queensport. The wind had been with them and they had made it to port hours earlier than expected. It was still light out. “Before we're whisked away again.”

 

“Forget that!” Medin grinned, fishing out the necklace he wore around his neck now that he was home and his identity no longer needed to be a secret. The gold gleamed and his spirits lifted. “We still have hours before sunset. Mother can wait. I need to give Prince Kael a proper tour of the city. He is a visiting dignitary, after all.”

 

Kael shook his head. “We shouldn't.”

 

“You have an interesting definition of 'visiting'.” Ryca sighed. But she hadn't seen Sun City in a long time, and back then she had hardly been at the liberty of exploring it all, so she was tempted. And Kael should be allowed to see it, too. Before it was too late.

 

“Come on!” Medin grasped Kael's hand passionately between both of his own. He bent down a little to be at eye level with him, looking at his shaded face under that ugly wool cloak he wore. “You said you've always wanted to see Sun City. Besides, if you are going to see the Queen, you should wear something fancier. I'll take you to my tailor! Aderia?”

 

His dear knight was taking deep breaths of the salty and sweet Solfru air. It seemed to invigorate her. She pulled off the cloak she had gotten from Dim and simply handed it to some passing woman. The woman looked confused but didn't question the act of charity, hurrying off before it was taken back. Aderia adjusted her sword at her side and the shield on her back. They were both marked with the symbol of Sol and the royal family. She nodded at him to show she was listening.

 

“Go to the castle and bring word to the Queen. She should have a feast prepared for us. I think we've earned it.” His voice still whistled when he spoke – he would ask the royal physician for replacement teeth. He wanted gold ones.

 

Aderia grinned and nodded, saluting him before kissing his cheek, and then getting onto her toes to kiss Ryca's cheek as well. She then turned to Kael. Medin expected him to pull away but he stood still, accepting her kiss too.

 

“Rent a horse.” Medin pressed a few pieces of gold into her warm, rough palms and she grasped his hand gently for a moment. “Or buy one, if you find one you like.”

 

Medin had retrieved the gold taken from him in the Crossroads once their captives were too weak from illness to fight. His pouch was once more full of coins. He had gold to spend again, and was in the right place to get more once his wallet was empty.

 

It must have been by the grace of Sol that the smugglers were struck by disease and died. Medin didn't feel any remorse for their deaths, though he knew Kael did.

 

Once Aderia had gone to announce their arrival in the city, Medin put an arm over Kael's shoulders to lead him along. Ryca moved to Kael's other side and grasped the winter prince's hand. They were headed up along the staircases through still blossoming parks and gardens. People gathered under yellowing leaves to rest up, share meals or stories or songs, and enjoy the afternoon sun. Though fall had come and winter was approaching, Sun City was warm and sunny and alive. Medin had thought he'd never feel so warm again. It wasn't as hot now as it was in summer, but Medin still couldn't think Kael was too comfortable under that heavy cloak of his.

 

“I will get you a nicer cloak. Something cooler. Perhaps mom will let you stay here for a little while. Just a nice vacation, before going back to that terrible cold. And you'll need some formal attire, something with pants. All those gown you people wear...” Medin rambled on.

 

“I don't want a nicer cloak, I want this cloak. And I like gowns. What's wrong with gowns? Ryca wears gowns all the time.” Kael's awful Ishemish accent was still there, but he had slipped into a more Solfruan way of speaking. His sounds were softer, his vowels more drawn out. It made Medin glad in a strange sort of way.

 

“They are so old fashioned! Ryca is a woman, so it's okay for her to wear them.” Medin rolled his eyes. Surely Kael realized that already? “Only women, old men and priests wear gowns here.”

 

“Aderia wears pants, so what is the danger of a skirt?” Ryca argued with a smile on her red lips. “And you wore gowns once, your Highness.”

 

Kael giggled as Medin blushed. “That was a long time ago! The moment I was allowed not to wear the horrible things, I stopped!”

 

“Then may you allow me not to wear your horrible pants?” Kael asked with innocent mischief.

 

Medin bit his lip. He hadn't realized he was trying to force him into something he didn't want, under the guise of trying to help him. He supposed it didn't matter if Kael was fashionable or not.

 

“I don't decide what you have to wear, Kael. Sorry. I'm sure my tailor will make you a most exquisite gown. And we'll check out the markets up the hill, too! I'm sure they'll have jewelry befitting of a Prince.” Medin was getting excited once more. He loved things that glittered and shone, and he loved pretty people. Their journey had been very lacking in pretty, sparkly things. “I'll get you a crown, too!”

 

“I'm not supposed to wear crowns. I'm not a ruler.” Kael protested, but with a smile tugging on his pale lips.

 

-

 

It was nightfall by the time they reached Brightcastle. Sol had gone to rest just below the horizon. Aderia hadn't returned to find them so perhaps she was busy with preparations. Medin hoped that she would join them at the feast that he was sure was being prepared in the castle at that moment.

 

Medin had dragged Kael and Ryca across the entire city, showing off museums (though he himself lacked the interest in them, Ryca was delighted) and greenhouses (Kael barely wanted to leave). They visited great dazzling marketplaces on the highest levels of Solfru, where the richest residents lived and shopped, and where Medin's own tailor and shoemaker had their respective shops.

 

His tailor had nearly wept at the sight of his face and his missing teeth. The large man had hugged him close for a long time before Medin managed to detach himself. His shoemaker had been far less emotional as she took measurements and showed samples of dyed cork and canvas, and exotic, foreign hides and tanned leathers.

 

Kael decided on a light blue gown with silver embroideries, a high collar and no sleeves. He picked flat canvas shoes dyed a matching blue, painted with silver and gray swirls and clouds. He agreed on getting a thinner cloak only after Medin volunteered to carry his old cloak with him so he wouldn't need to part with it.

 

Medin picked out jewelry for him. Delicate silver chains with blue gemstones. Rings, bracelets and, as promised, a tiara of silver with blue stones the color of the summer sky. A woman from Tué had a stall where she braided pearls and glass stones into his hair in an elaborate style. Kael allowed her to apply blue flower dyes to his eyelids and lips, once Ryca had approved of the ingredients in the dyes. The results were stunning. His purple-blue eyes looked brighter. He looked so cold but beautiful, ephemeral. The blue pigments on his lips shimmered in the evening sun, constantly drawing Medin's attention to them.

 

“That's much better, don't you think,” he quipped as Kael was admiring his reflection in a still pond. 

 

Medin had bought clothes for Ryca. She protested that she should not own finery due to her status. He eased her fears by calling it a loan, rather than a gift.

 

“For the feast only.” Even novices could enjoy themselves, right?

 

Ryca ended up with darker colors. Her gown had lacing at the waist, giving her a more curved figure. It had long, flowing sleeves she could hide her hands in. The gown was made of red silk with black decorations, matching her painted face and shiny, dark hair perfectly. She picked black shark leather for her shoes but opted out of jewelry. She wore only the eye amulet Aderia had given her once.

 

Medin purchased a nice outfit for himself as well, despite already owning too many of them at the castle. Their recent hard living had made him lose weight and the tailor noted as much when he took his measurements. The man lamented his thinner thighs, yet praised his stronger arms.

 

Usually, Medin liked darker colors, blue and gold. But he went with the color scheme of the Ishemish flag to pay tribute to the guest of honor. He wore black, tight pants and a loosely flowing white tunic, tied in with ribbon at the waist and the end of the belled sleeves. He wore the gold symbol of his status at his neck, and gold rings in his ears and on his fingers. He dusted his eyelids and cheekbones with gold as was customary for any large celebration.

 

Together, the three looked stunning.

 

Though Aderia hadn't returned, Medin had bought her two outfits. Since he wasn't sure if she'd prefer a gown or pants and a tunic, he got her both. He had them delivered to Brightcastle, with a message for her to pick whichever she preferred.

 

Even after such a shopping spree, Medin had a few coins left in his pouch. He turned to Kael, who looked almost like a god himself and not just the intended spouse of one. Medin felt giddy, drunk off the Solfru air and the glory of homecoming and of challenges defeated, off of beauty and the knowledge his mother would soon have to praise him for a job well done.

 

“You should have a weapon. A dagger at least! I'll find you a pretty one. Ishemish steel, Ishemish craft, with Karusi gemstones and Solfruan gold, just like Ryca's knife!” One final purchase before going home in glory.

 

“I've never owned a weapon. I'm not meant to. I'm the prince. I don't get to defend myself. Is will defend me, if I'm deserving,” the winter prince protested but Medin was having none of it.

 

“In Ishem, maybe, but in Sun City, you need to be armed. Come!” He knew a good pleace where he had gotten his own dagger and a rapier for his sister as a birthday gift. But once they got to the stall, it had no Ishemish weapons. There was Ishemish steel, but no Ishemish craftsmanship. Medin pouted and pleaded and flirted, but there were no wares kept under the counter or saved for some other, less important, customer.

 

“I am sorry, my prince. Ishem has set up an embargo against us. They are threatening us. Have you not heard? They blame us for-” The man looked at Medin incredulously, before glancing over his shoulder at Kael. The weapon salesman's eyes bulged in shock. ”That's...!”

 

Medin quickly shoved what coins he had left in the man's shaking hand before he said another word. “Yes, yes, I have heard the news. And you have seen nothing. Good night, sir.”

 

He turned, grabbing Kael's wrist and headed uphill, toward the castle. “Never mind. You can borrow one of mine. I think it is time to get to our feast now,” He mumbled.

 

“One of the smugglers?” Ryca wondered out loud. “They could have gone Exile and spoken to the Council.”

 

Medin shrugged. He didn't want to think about it. It didn't matter. Kael would go back soon. It hurt his heart, but he knew it would happen from the very start.

 

“The Council is threatening you? But... but Ishem barely has any army, much less a navy...!” Kael looked shaken. Medin supposed it was good if he was afraid. Then he would see things their way. He would cooperate.

 

“Don't worry about it now, prince. Tonight is all for you.” Medin took Kael's hand and kissed it.

 

They reached the top of the stone stairs leading up to the great castle. Its carved walls, gilded domes and towers rose up high above their heads. The guards instantly recognized Medin, and if Aderia had done her job, they would had been told to keep an eye out for them. The gates opened, and Medin lead Ryca and Kael inside.

 

The courtyard with its great pools of water and shadowy fruit trees was beautiful and orange in the setting sun. Before the doors to the main halls stood a slender figure. His sister. Medin smiled and took Ryca's and Kael's hands in each of his own. He walked across the colorful mosaic pathway up to her. They stopped a respectful distance from her and bowed their heads.

 

“Your Highness. You look radiant today.” Medin grinned. His little sister was two years younger than him and was blossoming into a beautiful woman. She was short of stature but elegant, with a long neck and high forehead. She had the same commanding aquiline nose, golden eyes and dark brown skin as he had. The royal bloodline. Her hair was braided with threads of all colors, a rainbow draping down her back. She wore a gown that looked like it was spun out of gold with dark blue accents. She had her Sol symbol at her collar and a great yellow cactus flower in her hair.

 

“Midsommar, this is Sister Ryca of the island of Dim. And this-”

 

“I know who that is, brother.” Midsommar grinned at him and walked over gracefully, extending her gloved hand to take Ryca's hand first, and then Kael's. She extended her left hand to him without hesitation, as opposed to her right as was the custom. Kael blushed under the sparkling icy powder decorating his sweet face and took her hand.

 

“Prince Kael. It is a pleasure to have you with us. We have been most concerned after hearing of your disappearance.” She glanced over at Medin. The stern look in her eyes told him to be quiet. He said nothing.

 

“Fortunately,” the princess continued in her enchanting voice, “Prince Medin's loyal knight arrived hours before you, giving us time to arrange something worthy of such a dignified visitor. Alas, there was no time to invite other nobles. I hope you will be satisfied with a smaller company.”

 

Kael nodded silently. His eyes were wide, his lips parted and moving as though he was trying to speak.

  
“What about Aderia? Did she pick the dress or the pants?” Medin asked, less formal than his sister. He had slept in the same bed as, bathed with, lived with, eaten with, and pissed alongside his friends for the last month. He didn't feel like reverting to court manners in a heartbeat.

 

“I'm sorry. She was so weary she was almost dead on her feet when she got here. She must have exerted herself. I sent her to bed.” Midsommar gave him her dazzling smile and he matched it. He could see so much of himself in her, but more of their mother. They likely didn't have the same father. He had never heard of his mother having a favorite concubine.

 

“What happened to your teeth?” asked the princess, as though she hadn't noticed it yet.

 

“I ran face first into a fist.” Medin laughed.

 

Midsommar's laughter was a sweet giggle. “How very like you. Come. Let's eat.”

 

She showed them into the great hall. The mosaic floor and ceiling were lit by hundreds of lanterns. A table had been drawn out into the middle of the large room. The Queen was waiting for them.

 

His mother was an old woman now. She had been without heir for a long time before finally birthing her first child, and then for longer when Medin refused the title. Her face was wrinkled and small. It had a warmth to it Medin had never seen before.

 

She was wrapped in dark blue from her head to her feet, wearing an old fashioned head scarf and gown. Her hands were so covered in gems and gold rings he could barely see her skin. Only her face was free, round and smiling. Her Sol symbol was larger than Medin's and Midsommar's. She wore it in the middle of her forehead, attached to the fabric of the scarves.

 

She wasn't as formal as her daughter, spreading her fat arms wide in welcoming. “My son! I am so glad to see you back!”

 

Medin could hardly believe it. He stepped into her warm embrace. Her head didn't come up past his chest. The eight sharp points of her gold Sol symbol threatened to break his skin, but he held on to her tightly. She rubbed warm circles over his back. Medin's eyes watered. He hadn't recognized the void inside himself until it was filled with this warmth.

 

“You did well, Medin. So very well,” his mother whispered to him. Midsommar smiled at him. All was right in the world.

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19. Queen Melara I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 19 contains:
> 
> Transphobia  
> Ableism  
> Manipulation

**Chapter 19. Queen Melara I**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

Dinner proceeded smoothly. The winter prince was charming and shy, and seemed a reasonable child. The Queen kept the conversation light and casual to begin with. She stuck to basic topics. His health, how the journey had treated him. She acted surprised and shocked at the story of the smugglers, and sympathetic for the tale of his illness. Her dearest daughter Midsommar was gracious and beautiful as a flower, and Melara could tell Prince Kael was entranced. His eyes flickered constantly across the table.

 

Midsommar was seated on Melara's left hand side, and Medin next to Melara. On her direct right sat Kael. Next to him sat the tall, bony woman, Ryca something? If this had been a regular family dinner, Medin's woman, that knight girl, would have been seated at the other end of the table next to Medin and right across from Melara herself.

 

“It's a shame Aderia wouldn't be here,” Medin pouted. Melara felt like reaching across the table and smack her -- _his_ ungrateful face. She still wasn't used to her firstborn darling being her useless son rather than her useless daughter. But she supposed she should be glad that he stepped back and left room for his far more competent little sister. And he had finally been useful now.

 

“Yes, truly a shame. That poor child. You must all be so exhausted from so dreadful a journey.” Melara tutted matronly and shook her head. The main course of grilled fish in a tart citrus and mint sauce was cleared away and replaced by dessert. There was a colorful cake made to look like a flowering garden, with fruit cut to look like flowers decorating the surface. There was also a side salad of sweet fruit, kelp and salted cinnamon and chili sauce. A sweet dessert rum was brought out along with it.

 

“Mother, is this the Armasi rum?” Midsommar quipped cheerfully. A delighted smile illuminated her face as she was poured a sparkling golden glass of the sweet, strong liquor. Kael's face perked up. Melara smiled warmly at him.

 

“Yes, indeed. A bottle sent to me as a token of good faith from the good High Councilor of Ishem. Once he heard that you might be on the way here, Marett sent me a long letter expressing his concerns for your safety.” She beamed at the shocked expression on Kael's face.

 

“See! He's perfectly healthy!” Medin exclaimed, rudely reaching across the table to squeeze Kael's trembling hand.

 

Kael nodded. Melara noted he was tearing up. Kael swallowed down a burning gulp of rum, then shuddered and twisted his face into a frown. Medin seemed to enjoy it. Even Ryca drank gladly. Of course, Queen Melara and the Crown Princess had to keep a more measured and dignified pace.

 

“So, my dear prince,” Melara sighed, turning to him once the dessert was nearly finished. Her glass was still near full, as was Midsommar's and Kael's, while Ryca had about a mouthful left in hers, and Medin had called for a refill already. “I must apologize for all of this. It must have been a traumatic experience for you. I do apologize deeply for my idiot son.”

 

She shot a glare down the table. Medin swayed a little in his seat. He met her glare with a whimper, then he slumped forward and began snoring.

 

Melara reached up to wipe at the golden sun at her forehead, covering the face of it with her hand for a moment. Though it was night, one could never be too sure. “Escort the Prince away to where his knight is resting. Bring Miss Ryca along and place her in a guest room, she seems exhausted as well.”

 

Four gold armored members of the Queensguard stepped out of the shadows where they had been standing quietly to not impose on the feast. Two of them hefted Medin up, and another two helped Ryca to her feet. She was swaying, gaping like a fish on land. Her eyes focused on Kael and then Queen Melara for a moment. It looked like she would attempt to say something. Before she could, her head fell forward and she went limp. The two were carried away, and Kael followed them with his eyes, turning in his seat. He instantly looked more nervous. What a wise child.

 

“Forgive my brother, Prince. He is reckless. He would die for mother's attention, or even kill for it.” Midsommar smiled gently, putting her glass aside. Yes, there was much of Melara in her, yet the Queen saw some of her own mother, Queen Maella, too. Melara's mother had been known after her death as Maella the Bloody. “What lies did he tell you to make you come with him?”

 

“What?” Kael stuttered, grasping his glass tightly in his hand, but he didn't drink more. Good. That would make conversation easier. Melara could see the way his eyes moved erratically, unable to focus on any one point. “He said you had need of me. That I could save Ishem by speaking to you. I explained that I have no power, but he insisted.”

 

The Queen nodded as sympathetically as she could manage. “I see. Medin can be very charming. Very seductive. He spins a tall tale from golden thread and he draws you right into it. As you say, you are of no use to me. But you have caused quite a lot of trouble, going along with my son's harebrained schemes.”

 

“I didn't go along with them! I was kidnapped!” Kael exclaimed, turning defensive. “I had no choice in the matter!”

 

“As you say. My son did this only to satisfy his need for attention and a cheap thrill. But his actions have very expensive consequences. Your Councilor Marett is declaring war. Once he learned you had been abducted by the Prince of Solfru, he cut off all trade routes,” she paused for effect, letting her words sink in. She could see Kael understood the gravity of the situation.

 

“He knows he cannot win a war with us. We will crush him and force everyone in Ishem to their knees. Your land has never seen such bloodshed. The last war will pale in comparison. We will subjugate you for breaking the peace agreement and annex you as our colony. There will be no more Ishem, no more Ishemish people. Only Solfru, and our loyal subjects, and frozen mass graves.” She spoke in the same gentle, matronly voice as she had before. Midsommar kept her charming smile as she listened. Her beloved daughter Midsommar.

 

Kael's hand shook so hard he dropped his glass. Rum spilled over the table and over his lap, soaking the delicate gown he wore. He looked like some Frejan courtesan. Clearly, Medin had chosen it. Or perhaps the poor Prince really had as little sense as his predecessor, that dumb child.

 

“You can't...! We have done nothing wrong! We have honored your agreement! There has been no aggression!” Kael's voice cracked and his tears overflowed, washing away ice blue pigment and soon turning his eyes red. He was truly disgraceful. Melara did not know why the Winter Council insisted on such thin-skinned figureheads. Perhaps they simply chose the brittle of mind and heart to easier bend them to their will.

 

“There has been no aggression yet. And I am aware that my son brought this war on. I am simply stating that any attack from your side will be beaten down viciously. Your Winter Council will be dismantled and burned. We will torch your capital and make your land ours. I have always wanted Ishem. This would be the perfect opportunity to get it.” Melara leaned over and put one arm around Kael's shivering shoulders. He was so cold to the touch, like he was more ghost than man. Or a child, rather, who would never grow to be a man.

 

“Please. Please, let me fix this. Let me undo this!” Kael pleaded, snot and tears running down his face. Melara kissed his forehead gently.

 

“There is still a chance to solve this peacefully. You will keep your capital, your Winter Council, your cold throne and your dead God. Your people will be left alive. But you will become our subjects. Utterly and completely. You will bring this word to your Winter Council. You will make sure they agree. I will punish the responsible on my side and come with you to deal with the responsible on your side.” She stroked his back, feeling his ribs through the thin gown.

 

Kael sobbed and nodded. It was a shame to see such a beautiful a boy in tears. He was older than Midsommar and acted like a child half her age. The Princess stood and embraced Kael from the other side, kissing his tears away.

 

“Come now, Prince Kael. We will help you solve this. No one will have to suffer. You return home, you convince your Marett of the wisdom in my Queen Mother's bid. You shall have your wedding and your people will be saved. That is your role, isn't it?” Midsommar held Kael's hand. He cringed like he wanted to pull away. But he didn't. He was surrounded on all sides.

 

“Yes. It is.” Kael echoed in a hollow tone. “It is my role. I will save my people.”

 

“We must all make sacrifices, my sweet winter child. It is for the greater good. Ishem is dying, but Solfru will never be allowed to die. Your home will prosper as part of my Queendom. It will be difficult to get used to at first. But people will sing songs to your praise. Kael, the Winter Prince who saved everyone.” Melara stroked his hair, and he rested his head against her bosom. He smeared his makeup over her dark blue gown and soaked it with his tears. Soon the prince had wept himself to sleep. It only took one guard to carry him to his room.

 

“You will rule Brightcastle while I am gone.” Queen Melara beamed at her daughter and kissed her on each cheek. “You will do a great job of it. You have made me proud. Go rest. Hard times lie ahead.”

 

Midsommar curtsied and skipped off, holding her flowing skirts up so she could move faster. Melara ordered the table cleared. Then she turned to the head of the castle guard. He was a stout, hairy man with a face like a dull ax. A serious, unerringly loyal devout man.

 

“Arrange a trial for treason. The Sister of the Priesthood will be detained until Midsommar decides what is to be done or until the Priesthood agrees to take her off our hands. Ready my fleet. Twenty-one ships, manned for battle.”

 

“Yes, your Majesty. When will you depart?”

 

“As soon as they are fully stocked and ready. Within three days. We will force Ishem to its knees.”

 

“About time.” He grunted through his thick mustache and beard. His gray eyebrows were so bushy Melara wondered if he could see anything.

 

The Queen bowed her head in agreement. “Indeed.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you last chapter's fluff was ominous...


	20. Chapter 20. Midsommar I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 contains:
> 
> A lot of unpleasant attitudes towards most anyone  
> Gaslighting

**Chapter 20. Midsommar I**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

The Queen was busy with the arrangements for the trip to Ishem, with securing the support of the colonies and trade partners, of the nobles and merchants at court. The Princess, meanwhile, would be busy ruling the Queendom. Her mother had gradually taught her the to the job – introducing her to more and more duties as she grew older, letting her handle ever more important decisions and tasks, teaching her intricate details of the political life of Solfru and her subjects, allies and enemies.

 

Midsommar had waited for this day with eagerness. She was young but advisers and courtiers alike tried to flatter her often by saying she was the spitting image of her mother at her age. She didn't believe them. She did believe it when her mother said that she would far surpass her. Midsommar intended to start early.

 

She had woken to the sunrise with a smile on her face. She broke her fast on fruit and bread in her own rooftop garden, overlooking the city so far below. Her maids then dressed her in a high-necked, sharply cut dress that made her look taller. She looked imposing. Usually she was told she was as sweet like a doll. But she was no doll. She was soon to be Queen and she would look the part.

 

The head of the castle guard, the hairy old Captain Pering, ran up to her just as she left her chambers to take care of business.

 

“Your Highness! Princess! Dreadful, awful, absolutely horrifying!” He looked shaken, pale under his gray eyebrows and beard. She nodded at him to continue. “The witch! The witch, the cursed priestess, she has vanished without a trace! Her room was trashed, but the guards swore no one entered or left!”

 

Midsommar had always known the man to be religious, but not fearful or superstitious. She sighed. “So she escaped. She is a clever and perceptive woman, or she would not have been accepted by the monastery on Dim. Those of her faith have contributed greatly to this land. They are our best physicians and healers and pharmacists. They run most of the orphanages and schools for the poor. How is that cursed? If they didn't care for the commoners, then we would have to.”

 

Perhaps she was being too preachy but the royal family owed much to those who were devoted to <o>. Not only did they care for the poor, they also taught them such useful philosophies as accepting what was given to them, submission and passivity. Besides, she was not a superstitious person. She hardly believed in the Goddess whose symbol she wore at her throat. If she was blessed by anyone, it was by the hard work and amassed gold and power of her foremothers. Sol had nothing to do with it.

 

“They claim there are others beside Sol worth worshiping. They claim they can see the future, things which Sol have not yet turned her face to.” The old man shook in his gold armor. He had served well for many long years but Midsommar decided that once she was Queen, she would see him retire.

 

“People claim many things, Sir, but the fact remains that she either sneaked past the guards or she jumped off a balcony. Regardless of which, if she is as wise as she seems, she is on the first ship home to Dim, and staying well out of my business. My mother's business.” Midsommar corrected herself.

 

“The door to the balcony was open. Perhaps she flew,” the knight said with so serious an expression that it was hard not to laugh in his face. That wouldn't be very princess-like, so she bit her tongue and nodded.

 

“Yes. Or more likely she fell. She drank too much yesterday. She may have believed she was a bird. It wouldn't be the first time one of our guests attempted a swim in the sea. Your witch is dead or far away. Focus your concerns on the living and present instead.”

 

It wasn't unheard of that Sweetdream caused hallucinations, sleepwalking and other side effects. Though she couldn't tell him what exactly it was that the Priestess had drunk too much of. Midsommar brushed past him with a polite curtsy. She followed her own advice and focused on the living instead. She headed for the dungeons.

 

Her brother and his knight had been moved to the dungeons for safekeeping. The trial would have to be public if it was to fool the Ishemish, so they would need to go through all the usual steps. It was all for the best. The more peaceful the process to annex Ishem would be, the fewer future laborers would be lost. The more bloodshed, the more vicious the Ishemish would turn and the more of them would be slain.

 

They were a notoriously bloodthirsty people. The Winter Prince was proof enough. They were rebellious and keen to kill their betters whenever anything displeased them. They sacrificed children for better weather. They would fare better under a more enlightened rule. But to get them to realize that would take some gentle persuasion and a lot of trickery.

 

She gathered up her skirts and descended the steep stone stairs, one of her handmaidens and two royal guards still trailing behind her. The dungeons were dug deep into the cliff Brightcastle was built on, deeper down than the cold cellars were food and wine were stored. She shuddered from the cold. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs her handmaiden, a mousy girl with the irreplaceable virtues of saying little and needing no orders to understand her Princess' wishes, placed her jacket over Midsommar's shoulders.

 

Two jailers with masks and swords were posted at the heavy door. She nodded to them and they unlocked the door. The princess entered with only one of her guards and the lantern, leaving the other guard and her handmaiden to wait as the cell door locked behind her again.

 

The cell was cramped and dark. It had no window. The stone walls were rugged and the floor was worn smooth from the thousands of unfortunates who had stayed in it. Beyond this cell there were hundreds upon hundreds of other cells, not all in use anymore. Solfru had entered a period of peace and prosperity after the last war. They were sure to start filling up again soon, unless a more suitable prison for the treasonous was constructed in Ishem.

 

When she entered the two residents of the cell looked up at her with bleary eyes. The knight, still in her travel clothes but sans weapons and armor, had fire in her black eyes. She was sitting back against the wall with her arms resting on her knees. Medin's gilded eyes were reddened and sad. He flinched in the light, shielding his eyes with a groan. “Please, my head hurts.”

 

She lowered the lantern and sat it on the floor. He looked up at her again. He sat leaning on Aderia with a moth eaten blanket wrapped around both their shoulders. He was still in his fine clothes from the feast though his tunic was ripped at the throat and there was a bruise around his neck.

 

“Did the guards do that?” Midsommar asked angrily. They were not supposed to harm her brother! Only keep him here. It was meant to teach him some lesson in gratitude, in humility. But he wasn't to be harmed.

 

Aderia was signing furiously at her, but Midsommar hadn't bothered to learn the language.

 

“Aderia, Aderia, please... calm down.” Medin took Aderia's rough, filthy hands in his and kissed them one by one. Midsommar cringed internally. All the more reason why this was the best solution. Her brother had always wanted to live as a commoner. He loved them beyond his own family and his own history. Midsommar loved Medin greatly and wanted what was best for him but she couldn't help but see him as a disgrace. He had been born in the wrong body and to the wrong family. She could help rectify that in part, at least.

 

“I was confused and angry when they woke us with breakfast. I tried to steal their weapon. They did their job. That is all that happened. But I am still confused, sister.” He spoke to her in such a measured tone, with such a charming smile. There was ice in his eyes, a cold rage. “Mother praised me. I did as she asked. So why am I here? Why is Aderia here? She was only following orders.”

 

It was so simple, and yet Medin still didn't see it? Midsommar rolled her eyes. This was why she would be Queen, not Medin. If he had been cleverer he would have accepted the fate he was born into. Once he was Queen he could have worn pants and called himself a man all he wanted. He had thrown it all away. But she supposed he simply wasn't meant to rule.

 

“My poor brother. Medin. This will be a chance for you to start anew. You have always wanted adventure. So I am sending you away. After the trial you will be banished. Exiled to Karus. You will have money so you won't suffer. Aderia will come with you if you wish her to.” Midsommar explained gently.

 

“That wasn't what I asked!” Medin snapped, gripping Aderia's hands tighter. The knight had started growling and Midsommar was getting uncomfortable. She had liked Aderia when she was younger but she was no longer appropriate company. Medin's relation with her, whatever it was, was certainly inappropriate.

 

“The Ishemish people know we took their prince. If some don't know already they will when mother brings him back as a gift. You realize why they need to understand that you acted on your own when you stole him? They will demand justice. So you will be tried for treason. Ishem would want you executed. We will find reason for leniency. Mental weakness, confusion, there is plenty of proof of both. We will have you banished and declared no longer of the royal blood.” She explained it as simply as she could. Aderia fumed and Medin gaped at her in disbelief.

 

“But I was only doing as I was told.” Medin's voice cracked.

 

“There is the mental confusion again. My poor brother. You are a confused soul, tortured in the wrong body. The gods do not often make such mistakes but when they do it can be cruel on those it affects. You never wanted to be a princess and you never acted like a prince. I'm giving you the chance to be free of both titles. Of all titles, of all prescribed fates.” Midsommar held her hands out to him, palms up, pleading for him to understand. This was for the greater good for everyone.

 

“I'm not confused!” Medin snarled, moving to stand. The guard rushed up, hand on his sword, getting between Medin and the princess. Midsommar shook her head and gently touched the guard's arm, making him stand down.

 

“Brother, please. I am doing this for you. You could be executed for what you did. Tortured, dragged through the streets of Exile and cut open, gutted for all to see. I will still provide for you. You will have gold and women, or men, whatever you'd like. I will buy you a villa in Karus. Servants, land...” Midsommar promised, holding Medin's head between her warm hands. His eyes softened a little.

 

“What about Kael?” Medin asked, but he sounded like he had already given up. Aderia looked heartbroken as she lowered her head in acceptance. Good. They could see reason.

 

“The Prince will return to his own life, his own fate before you plucked him from it. He will be wed, I expect, and he will sit on the tithe throne. He will serve his people and his god and his council, as he is meant to. And when Ishem becomes part of Solfru, we will ensure he is safer than his predecessors. He won't suffer the gruesome fates they did. Ishem will be prosperous and its people too well-fed to turn their anger on a defenseless eunuch.” Her smile was as gentle as could be. She saw that Medin suffered with the thought before he finally bowed his head.

 

“I understand. Thank you, sister.”

  
She was about to leave when Aderia started jabbing Medin in the arm and signed furiously at him again. Midsommar raised an eyebrow and waited for a translation.

 

“Fuck! I forgot. Sorry, sorry, Midsommar.” Medin looked flustered. He should be glad their mother wasn't there because she would smack him for using such language. “Ryca! What about Ryca?”

 

Midsommar took a deep breath, her gentle smile faltering. “I'm so sorry. I didn't intend for her to get drawn into this. She would have been allowed to leave once the Priesthood vouched for her, but she threw herself off of a balcony into the sea. I will investigate the incident. My condolences.”

 

She turned and left quickly. Aderia's ghastly shriek could still be heard through the heavy door as it was locked behind her.

 

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21. Ryca V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 21 contains:
> 
> Drugging  
> Dysphoria

**Chapter 21. Ryca V**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

There was something wrong with the rum. It tasted strange. Ryca had tried Armasi rum before. It was cloyingly sweet and thick almost like a syrup, golden in color and strong enough to burn your nose if you sniffed it. But the Queen drank, as did the Princess, and Ryca thought little of it until she was near the bottom of her glass, where the strange earthy taste grew stronger. She recognized it just before the effects dawned on her. There was a blueish sludge at the bottom of her cup. Crushed Sweetdream flowers. Enough of it to send anyone to sleep. She stumbled to her feet as Medin slumped over the table.

 

She opened her mouth to warn Kael, to warn the Queen, but when she saw the expression on Melara's face, she understood. She slumped in the arms of the Queensguard when they grabbed her, pretending to be overcome by the drug. She hoped they were fast enough or she might not be acting asleep much longer, but actually fall asleep.

 

Ryca had ingested so much Sweetdream tea over the years that she had built up a resistance, needing more and more of the flower to get to sleep. But the strong rum interfered and mingled with the soporific effect of the potent blue flower. When she was dumped unceremoniously on a bed, she could barely think.

 

She waited for the door to lock. Luckily, the guards did in fact only dump her in the room and leave. She went through her robe pockets with numb hands that were growing heavier by the second. She found the antidote. Sweetdream flowers were counteracted by Sweetdream roots. She stuffed a whole nest of the dried roots in her mouth, chewing desperately. She bit her cheek and tongue several times on accident. She swallowed the root juices down with her blood and saliva. Soon she could open her eyes again. Soon after that she was able to sit up.

 

She had to find Aderia. She had to find Medin. Whatever was going on, it wasn't good. The Queen had drugged them. The story about Aderia being so tired she had simply gone to bed sounded even more hollow now. Ryca had heard what the Queen said before she was dragged away. It sounded like she was about to place all the blame on Medin.

 

It wasn't an unlikely story. Perhaps Prince Medin had acted on his own for whatever reason. But then, what use was there in drugging them? In isolating Kael so that Medin couldn't tell his part of the story? Ryca explored the room silently. There had to be a way out. She pressed an ear to the wooden door. She heard the guards shuffle outside of it, speaking to each other in low voices.

 

The bedroom itself was dark, much larger and nicer than she was used to. It was certainly a guest room fit for a noble, but right now it was still a cell. It had woven tapestries and had brightly stained glass windows, even a balcony. She tried the balcony door and it was unlocked. She opened it very quietly and stepped out into the dark.

 

The balcony hung out over the ocean. Leaning over the railing she saw straight down the cliff and down to the black waves far below, breaking and foaming against the rock face. She was overcome with vertigo and clutched the stone railing tightly, sinking to her knees. She hadn't eaten much at the feast though she had tried a little of everything to seem polite. It all came up now, along with the golden rum and the Sweetdream root.

 

It made her feel a little more sober – the Sweetdream root had no effect on alcohol, but her mind was lighter. Perhaps the fear had cleared it. She breathed hard, getting to her feet. She backed away from the edge carefully. She looked up at the decorated sandstone walls of Brightcastle. The chiseled and gilded patterns looked like vines of great flowers and beams of sunshine, with spiraling suns around windows and doors. It was so intricate, yet invisible from the sea, so far below. She saw a ship approaching the Queensport, guided by the lights of the city. It had to be a large barque yet it looked as small as a fly from up here.

 

There were more balconies both above and below, and several on the same floor as Ryca's 'guest room'. They were far apart, with was at least thirty feet of empty air between her balcony and the one next to it on either side. The balconies on the level below lined up perfectly with those above, but were at least thirty feet away as well.

 

Ryca returned to the room and ripped the sheets off the bed and tore down the bed curtains. She sat down on the floor and started to tie them together. When she was sure the knots were as secure as they would get, she took her makeshift rope out onto the balcony. She attached it to the strongest-looking pillar and around the railing.

 

Her hands were shaking and she was hyperventilating by the time she climbed over the railing and hung off the edge. There was nothing but a lethal fall behind her and nothing but old curtains to save her from it. How she had done this kind of thing as a kid, climbing the rigging on a ship that was tossed about by rolling waves and harsh winds, she didn't understand. It felt like her heart might burst from her chest.

 

She climbed down as slowly as she dared, swearing when she realized her gown was getting tangled around her legs. The silk of the sheets and curtains was too smooth to give enough friction. Her arms were shaking with the effort of holding herself up and she was swaying in the wind. Her palms were so sweaty and her teeth clattered.

 

She just needed to get down to the balcony below. She slid down the fabric rope slowly. She glanced down and nearly passed out right then, her fingers going numb for a second as her vision blackened. But there, only four feet below and to the left was the balcony below her room. She made it a little lower until her toes could barely brush the railing.

 

Ryca closed her eyes and prayed, and then she started swinging. The rope slipped a little, and she thought she'd fall. She pulled her legs up so she wouldn't hit the railing. She swung over it. Her legs were tangled up in her gown and the rope and she panicked when she was right over the center of the balcony. She let go of the rope and fell, landing on her stomach on the mosaic floor of the balcony. She untangled the sheets from her legs and they fell of the edge of the balcony. The knot tying it to the balcony above must have come undone. She had let go just in time.

  
Ryca rolled over on her back and grasped the wooden medallion she wore around her neck. She whispered her thanks in all the languages she could think of. She was alive. Praise <o>, she was still alive.

 

She scrambled back against the wall and took out her pipe, hidden in a pocket in her padded undershirt. She didn't know if the room behind her was occupied or when the guards would learn of her escape, but she needed to calm her nerves, stop her trembling. She sucked on the smoke greedily, feeling the terror melt away with each breath.

 

It took forty-five breaths before her legs felt steady enough. She tucked her pipe away and listened at the door. She didn't hear anything inside and opened it. It was unlocked, like her balcony door had been. It was likely that no one was expected to make the sheer climb up from the ocean and break in.

 

This room was another bedroom and thankfully, it was empty. It looked more personal than the guest room she had been put in and it smelled differently. Perfumes and food. Someone lived here, but they were currently somewhere else. She quickly went through the closet. She found some clothes and then made it out into the hallway. It was a shock to step into a fairly populous hallway. The lanterns were still lit. The mosaic hallways teemed with nobles in headscarves or plunge-necked gowns or tight tights and tighter tunics, with smiling servants in worn clothes and knights in golden armor. Ryca held her head high and gripped the bundle of stolen clothes tighter in her arms. Some people nodded at her and she nodded back with a stiff smile.

 

Ryca needed to disguise herself before her escape was discovered. She made it further away from the crowds, moving into ever darker corridors and stairways where the lanterns hung further apart. Brightcastle was not at all like the Spires. Even in the more sparse hallways she came across many servants, some watching at her curiously, others politely looking away. But no one stopped her, no one questioned her presence.

 

She ducked into what a sign on the door claimed to be an entrance to the female bathhouse. It wasn't in use this late at night, the water wasn't being heated and circulated. A sign just inside the door informed her that servants offering washing services and massages were only working during the daytime hours, and that nightly needs could be catered to in a different area of the castle.

 

Ryca ducked into a changing stall and got out of her gown and padded undergarments and into the clothes she had stolen. Tight black pants and a wine red tunic. She hid her medallion under the shirt, then put on her robe over it all. She looked at herself in the polished copper mirror. Her heart fluttered and she felt nauseous. One deep breath, two, three...

 

She wiped off her makeup and pulled out her dagger. She cut away at her hair, hacking at the long black locks until her hair was nearly as short as Medin's, a wavy mess of black barely coming down past her ears.

 

She put her old clothes and her shorn hair into a woven laundry basket just outside the changing stall. There was a servant's staircase down under the baths and there, as she thought she might, she found a furnace for heating the water. She threw the whole basket into it and lit it. She closed the blackened steel hatch and backed away when it all went up in flames.

 

Her new flat canvas shoes were uncomfortable and a little too small. She had to get used to wearing them, as well as the sense of nakedness around her neck and face and how light her head felt without her hair. She had been growing it out since she was little.

 

When she exited the bath a flustered girl let out a shriek when they nearly collided. She had just been about to enter the baths, and she seemed shocked to see Ryca exit them.

 

“Those are the ladies' baths!” She screamed.

  
“Sorry.” Ryca muttered. “The baths are closed.” She hurried away.

 

She held her head high and adopted a more masculine gait. No one stopped her, no one as much as looked at her strangely. But she imagined that they knew, and it made her skin crawl under her strange clothes. She approached a side door to the castle gardens and exited out to the moonlit lawns and pools.

 

Night flowers grew there, spreading their charming perfume through the cool air. Young nobles living in the castle or simply here on a visit were sitting around on benches or on blankets in the grass, talking, drinking, laughing, making out in pairs or trios or more. In Solfru, it was said that what was done after sunset, Sol could not judge a person for.

 

Ryca took a seat on her lonesome in a corner of the garden, trying to figure out what her plan should be. She had to find Aderia. She had to rescue Kael. And she supposed she should try to help prince Medin, too. She had to figure out what the Queen was planning and stop it.

 

Ryca spent the night in the gardens, and no one bothered her. Many slept out on the grass. Some in the arms of lovers, others with their arms around a bottle. One or two people slept with a book in their hands, which Ryca was glad to see.

 

In the morning she could learn what had happened quite easily. The court gossiped, young and bored nobles delighting in the disgrace of others. It was easy to overhear. Prince Medin and Lady Aderia were being tried for treason and had been confined in the dungeons. The royal fleet was gathering. The Queen was sailing for Ishem with a hostage within days.

 

 _War_ , excited children in pretty clothes whispered to each other. _War is coming_ , _and the Ishemish are getting what is coming to them._

 

Ryca had to get to the dungeons. Then she had to get to Kael and find a way, any way, to stop this foolishness. If war was what the Queen planned... The gods could not permit this to happen. No, damn the gods. They wouldn't interfere. They never interfered. Ryca had to stop this herself.

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22. Aderia V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22 contains:
> 
> Ewww sewer water

**Chapter 22. Aderia V**

**Beneath Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

It couldn't be true. Midsommar must have lied. Ryca was strong. Yes, Aderia knew she had suffered through a lot. Aderia knew of her reluctance to eat, of her past self harming, of how much of a toll this journey had taken on her. Ryca had lost her parents, and she'd been bullied in school by students and even some teachers. But Ryca had found a place with the Priesthood of <o>. Perhaps she took it very hard that she hadn't yet managed to See, but surely not enough to end her own life? No, Ryca would never do that, not when she knew Aderia needed her. But what if it had all become too much? What if Ryca had been strong for too long and she was too tired to go on?

 

Medin held her as she tried to come to terms with even the possibility. This was a nightmare. This was a terrible nightmare and everything had gone so wrong. She laid in Medin's lap and tried to stop crying. She had to be a strong knight, she was supposed to protect the Prince, not weep on him as he stroked her hair and tried to soothe her.

 

But Medin wouldn't be a prince anymore, and Aderia wouldn't be a knight. She wouldn't retire with glory and dignity and medals and songs about her. She wouldn't get a retirement fund and a minor noble title and good land to start a family and raise animals on. They had come so far for nothing. The Queen had lied to them. She had tricked them, and Aderia had never been so angry, so hurt.

 

She had sworn her life to the Queen, to her son, to the Queendom. And she had been tossed away like it didn't matter once she had done her part. They had fetched Kael. They had broken the peace agreement on her orders. They had kidnapped a young man. Aderia had killed a child. They had been pushed around and bullied by smugglers. They had nearly died from disease and storms on the sea.

 

Ryca was... Her sister in all but blood, her best friend since childhood, the closest thing she had to a mother... was gone.

 

“We were supposed to go on an adventure,” Medin whispered in a broken tone. He sounded so small. “We were supposed to come home to glory and praise. Maybe a parade. Instead...”

 

Instead they were imprisoned as traitors, hungry and cold in a dungeon. They had lost two friends. Their titles. Their reputation. They had lost everything.

 

“I just wanted her to tell me that I was good. That I did well.”

 

_You did well. You are good_ , she signed at him, but he only sobbed louder.

 

Aderia sat up and held Medin, cradling him to her chest and stroking his trembling back. They sat rocking together, weeping bitterly. The door unlocked and was pushed open. They didn't pull apart but raised their heads to face the door. Aderia narrowed her eyes, growling when one of the guards came in.

 

“Down, girl.” He chuckled. “Alright, let him in.” The guard stepped aside, letting a second person into the cell. The guard remained by the door, keeping an eye on them.

 

The second person was a tall, thin, olive-skinned man in servant's clothes, worn and dirty. His pants were too short for his long legs. He wore no socks in his canvas shoes. His shirt that was too big and loose on him. His hair was a mop of messy black hair. He carried a basket and a bucket of water with him when he came over to kneel before Aderia and Medin.

 

Aderia couldn't believe her eyes. There was no mistaking who it was. Perhaps she was imagining things. Hallucinating, mad with grief. She kept her face still and without reaction since the guard was yet at the door. She saw the scars on the servant's dirty arms, the weariness on their face. Ryca looked so different in short hair without her skirts and makeup, so uncomfortable and hunched.

 

“Here to clean and tend the prisoners,” Ryca muttered in a fake, coarse city accent. “Order of the princess.”

 

She put the bucket before them, along with washcloths. Aderia untangled herself from Medin and started washing up. Next to her, Medin just stared.

 

Ryca cleared her throat. “The Highness Midsommar said something about an injury...?”

 

She held up a roll of bandages. Aderia couldn't understand what Ryca was thinking, how she was alive, what she was even doing here. But she trusted her. She was grateful she wasn't dead. That she was here. That she would help them.

 

Medin snapped out of it and nodded. “Ah, yes, a sprain... here.” He pulled up his tights and took off his shoe. Ryca nodded and started bandaging his unharmed leg. Aderia started washing Medin's face, wiping the gold powder away.

 

“The princess sent wine and pastries, too,” the 'servant boy' continued, glancing back at the guard by the door, who perked up at her words. Ryca smiled smugly at Aderia.

 

_I love you, sister._ Aderia signed, as the guard's hungry gaze was focused on the contents of the basket.

 

Ryca nodded and smiled before standing up, taking with her the bucket of dirty water but leaving the basket.

 

Ryca left but the guard in the cell remained. Aderia grabbed the blanket that lay on top of the basket while Medin went for the sweet baked goods inside. The guard snatched the basket off the floor, out of Medin's reach.

 

“Better take this. For inspection. Can't be too careful.” He grumbled.

 

Medin looked like he was going to interject, but Aderia grabbed his arm. Medin closed his mouth and averted his eyes. The guard scoffed and walked out, locking the door behind him. The sound of the two guards at the door eating and drinking and sharing bawdy stories provided the perfect cover.

 

Aderia turned to Medin and unrolled the bandages around his leg quickly. On the inside of the long strip of fabric, Ryca had written something. Closest to Medin's skin, Ryca had hidden a lockpick. Medin hugged Aderia tightly.

 

_She's a genius._ He signed at her. Aderia nodded, and picked up the bandage to read. Next to her, Medin read along silently.

 

THE QUEEN IS GOING TO WAR. KAEL IS HER HOSTAGE. I LEAVE WITH THEM TOMORROW. THE FOOD IS DRUGGED. WHEN THEY SLEEP, RUN AWAY. GO TO DIM. I WILL FIND YOU WHEN THIS IS OVER.

 

Medin rolled the bandage back up around his leg and cleared his throat, grasping the lock pick in his hand. He looked at Aderia. She shook her head.

 

_I'm not running. I will help Ryca._ She signed with determination. Ryca wasn't dead. Ryca was trying to save them, save everyone. Ryca was going to fix things. But she wouldn't have to fix them alone.

 

Medin nodded.  _Let's go on a real adventure this time._

 

She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek.  _Let's._

 

They waited until they heard snoring. It was an agonizing wait. Any time, their guards may be switched as another shift began. Someone else might come down here, or they may not eat and drink enough to be affected, or they might realize what was going on. Aderia grasped Medin's hand tightly. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

 

Soon enough they heard the snores through the door and a thud as someone fell to the ground. They stood as one. Medin wrapped the blanket over his fancy clothes. Aderia picked the lock and they opened the door carefully. One guard was leaned back against the wall, snoring loudly. The other hung precariously over the stairs, ready to tumble down them.

 

Aderia unclasped his belt and strapped his sword to her own hip, though the belt fit very snugly around her waist. She grabbed his wool hat, too. She pulled it over her head, tucking her bright hair away under it. Medin searched the other guard and grabbed his dagger and a pouch of copper coins, but found nothing else of use.

 

They ascended the stairs as silently as they could before finding an offshoot into the sewers. They hadn't spoken of where they would go or how they would help Ryca. First things first, they needed to get out of the dungeons and the castle. They could hide out in Sun City until they heard anything about the Queen or Kael or Ryca.

 

The sewers running under Brightcastle were formed from the natural rivers running out from the cliffs the castle stood on, and opened out into the sea at the edge of the cliff. Water was drawn upstream, and flushed out along with various human waste further downstream, where the waterfalls sent it out into the ocean.

 

Paths were carved out through the rocks for maintenance, though the sewer system looked mostly natural. Aderia shuddered at the smell. She thought of the poor servants who had to go down here to clear blockages before the dirty water got backed up. If it did, it would flood up into the streams that watered the gardens and which the common folk drew their drinking water from.

 

 _There has to be another exit_ , Aderia signed. _A maintenance tunnel that doesn't go through the dungeon._

 

They continued on down the tunnel. It only grew narrower and brighter, and the sound of rushing water grew louder.

 

“We have to turn around.” Medin said as they neared the natural exit. The waterfall.

 

“They're down here! I heard a voice!” Someone yelled behind them. Aderia stared in dismay at Medin, who looked just as shocked. He took her hand. She gulped and nodded.

 

Either they went back and got imprisoned again, and perhaps the princess would not be so forgiving of their 'treason' once they had tried to escape, or they pressed on.

 

So they ran. They ran until there was no longer a passage to run along. The sound of heavy feet and clanging of steel and shouting was following them. Medin grasped the blanket he wore over his shoulder tighter, and nodded at Aderia. She grabbed two corners of the blanket as he grabbed the other two.

 

They jumped into the rush of sewer water. They were swept along the currents, flushed out through the opening in the cliff face. Aderia was blinded for a second by the sudden brightness of the sky and the glittering of the ocean. Then they were plummeting, drawn under the cascade of water, until the ocean winds caught their blanket.

 

The wind tugged them out from the wall and bounced them back. They spiraled. Aderia lost track of up and down as they tumbled around. There was a sharp pain in her side. They fell, soared, jerked about and scraped against the rocks before falling towards the raging sea again. She saw only blue, but whether it was the bright Solfru skies or the deep cold sea, she didn't know.

  
A strong gust of wind filled the blanket and it ballooned out above them. Aderia's hands were slick with blood from being grated against the cliffs and she lost her grip. At least she finally knew which direction she was going: down. Right in front of her, falling at the same speed, Medin wore a strangely serene expression.   
  


She looked into his gold eyes. He let go of the useless blanket and took her hands.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooaaah, we're halfway there, woah, living on a prayer~


	23. Chapter 23. Kael V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 contains:
> 
> Imprisonment  
> Mob mentality  
> Sexual harrassment

**Chapter 23. Kael V**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

Kael was locked away on the uppermost level of the castle where the security was the highest, in a room adjacent to the Queen's chambers. He was guarded at all times, with no less than four gold armored knights at his side constantly. He couldn't sleep in peace, eat in peace or use the chamber pot in peace. They wore their helmets down so that only their eyes were visible, and wouldn't say a word, not even when he addressed them or asked them questions. They merely stood in his way if he tried to go where he wasn't allowed, which seemed to include everywhere that wasn't the bedroom.

 

They helped him dress in whatever clothes the Queen chose for him when he couldn't dress himself, but they said nothing to him. No servants were allowed in so they even passed his chamber pot to the waiting staff in the doorway. Kael wished they'd spill on their shiny suits of armor but then he remembered he'd have to live with the smell too, at least until shift change. The shift change happened in silence, two new guards replacing two old ones, and some hours later two other new guards replacing the now older ones.

 

Food was delivered to the room by wide-eyed curious servants, rather much nicer dressed up here than the ones he had seen around the corridors in the lower castle. They tried to peer at him over the shoulders of the Queensguards, gawking like he was some exotic, caged animal.

 

All the food smelled delicious, but he had no appetite. He ate sparsely only to silence his growling stomach. Grilled mushrooms, creamy fruit soups, spicy rice dishes, bread, alcohol, juices... He turned it all away.

 

His body ached. His scars. His mind. His heart ached, too. In the end, he wanted to believe that Medin was not a bad person. Impulsive, perhaps, and insensitive at times. But he recalled the gentle hands nursing him back to health and the laughter in his eyes. He thought of the amazing way he told stories, the intensity that drew him in more than even Marett's hypnotic voice could. But Medin had lied to him this whole time. He told captivating stories, but that was all they had been. Stories. Medin had risked the life of everyone – Kael, Aderia, Ryca, himself, all of Ishem – for the sake of his own amusement.

 

Kael was drifting off in a chair he had pulled up to a stained glass window. He was exhausted after almost two days and nights of little sleep and less food. The door opened and it made something wake in his foggy mind. It wasn't time for a shift change yet. He looked up, and saw the Queen herself, dressed in what looked like a heavy travel coat.

 

“It is time to go, my dear. Make haste.” She quipped with that motherly smile that made his stomach turn but also made him want to keep her smiling because he was afraid to see her frown.

 

He had been told nothing. He hadn't even seen the Queen since that dinner. The guards, however, were prepared. One pulled out warm clothes from the closet as another faceless suit of gold started undressing him. He protested, cheeks burning. He could undress himself. He could dress himself too, mostly, he just struggled with laces and buttons. The Queen didn't even have the decency to look away. She stared as he was stripped bare and then clothed again, in warm wool tights, another pair of pants over top, wool socks, high boots, a long sleeved tunic, knit gloves, a scarf and a hat. They marched him out without Marett's cloak. He struggled against the four gilded guards for the first time.

 

“Wait, wait, please!” Kael cried. The Queen signaled a halt. They were halfway down the stone staircase with its gilded railings.

 

“My cloak. I want my cloak. Please.” He had given up on dignity. He couldn't return to Marett having lost his cloak. Worse, he couldn't imagine another journey at sea without the calming influence of it.

 

The Queen nodded to one of the guards, who grunted and returned up the stairs to fetch it. Kael clutched it gratefully to his chest when it was thrust at him.

 

“Thank you. Thank you.” He mumbled into the gray wool, inhaling the scent. It smelled awful by now, after all that had happened. The mildewed smuggling tunnels out of Exile. Spilled ale, spilled food. His own feverish sweat. But under the stench of the long road, he still smelled Marett, so earthy and real, and the sweet Armasi rum that was his favorite. He pulled the cloak on and rubbed the slightly scratchy fabric of the hood against his face. It calmed him.

 

“Do not waste words on me, winter child. You will have time to show your gratitude in action.” The Queen said.

 

They exited the castle through the front gates, surrounded on all sides by not only Kael's guards now, but the Queensguard too, as they joined up with them.

 

On the steps of Brightcastle, in the sunset's orange light, a crowd had gathered. They were both nobles and commoners, judging by the colors of their outfits – bright colors for the nobles, more earthy ones for those with less wealth to spend on dyes and fine fabrics. But Kael squinted at them and saw only a blur, a sea of faces of all different tones of brown.

 

The noise was terrifying. Cheers. The Queen raised her hand in a wave. Her other arm was around Kael's waist. She was strong for her age and her grip was a vice around his left arm. He broke into a cold sweat. He didn't like crowds, he didn't like masses of people looking at him and making noise. The mood may be celebratory now but that may change in a heartbeat. He wanted to get going, but the Queen stopped to speak. Kael sunk back into his mind until the noise was only the distant roar of a winter storm.

 

“My people! Solfru! Sun City. Our allies. Our partners. Our prosperity is yours, and your prosperity is ours! Yet disagreements between us and our nearest neighbor have turned more and more bitter each year. Our royal treasury has invested much in helping Ishem. We run their mines. We help them smelt and shape their steel. We allow them to use our ports and ships to facilitate trade throughout the world.” Murmurs of discontent. Kael shrank closer against the Queen's warm body, though she likely held no more sympathy for him than the crowd. Either of them was as likely to tear him to shreds.

 

“Yet the stubbornness of their Council and the distrust and laziness of their people have been taxing! And now, to thank us for our generosity, they are declaring war!” The crowd booed, screamed, hands reached out. If the guards had not stepped up to block out the groping sea of claws, Kael was sure they would have taken hold of him, pulled him into the crowd. It was no longer a winter storm, or a crowd of unseen faces. It was a great roaring beast, trained to attack at the Queen's words.

 

“But I remain a generous Queen to those who need help. I will help the Ishemish become a wiser, happier people. I will bring their stolen prince back, and in return, they will listen to my final offer.” She spoke clear and loud, and the churning beast clung to her every word. Kael's mouth was dry. He closed his eyes.

 

“If they do not even offer me that respect, our fleet will teach their arrogant Council a lesson they will not soon forget. They named my mother Maella the Bloody. If they resist me, there will be none of them left to name me anything at all.”

 

Cheers. Screams. Flowers were thrown at their feet. Coins of gold. Rice. The Queen bowed to the crowd and they continued their walk down the stairs. The Queensguard walking before them parted the great screaming beast so they could pass. Kael was helped into the gilded cart drawn by four white horses. The chanting behind him chilled him to the bones.

 

“Death to Ishem! Death to the Council! Burn the ice men! Long Live the Queen! Long Live Sol!”

 

-

 

“Prince Kael.” The Queen spoke to him softly. They were on her ship, the Queen's most decorated barque, named Queen Maella for the Queen's mother. Maella the Bloody, who orchestrated the last brutal massacre on Ishem. Kael had had enough of boats for a lifetime. He had had enough of everything. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Marett. He wanted to finally wed Is and fulfill his purpose so that all would be well again. Perhaps he could turn as cold and blank as the tithe throne. If he stopped fighting it, perhaps he would stop caring so much. Stop being so scared.

 

“Kael.” She repeated louder, putting a heavy hand on his scarred shoulder. He jumped and slapped her hand away. But she seemed satisfied enough that she had gotten him out of his own mind that she didn't retaliate.

 

“You have not eaten even a bite of your pineapple pie.” The Queen was well into her third slice. They were seated in her luxurious cabin, with plenty of guards around. It looked no different than a regular room, despite being at sea. The walls were all wood, unlike the stone of Brightcastle, and the floor rocked and the walls creaked. Other than that, it might well have been his castle 'guest room'. It even had a large solid wood bed. The bed must have been assembled in the room, or else the ship was built around the bed. It boggled Kael's mind.

 

“I'm not hungry, Your Majesty.” He mumbled, minding his manners. The Queen seemed pleasant enough, but he didn't trust her smile.

 

“Ah, just as well. I have heard that eunuchs gain weight quite easily.” She quipped, as though they were friends gossiping together on the wicker bench, rather than captor and captive, or conqueror and hostage, or whatever they were supposed to be.

  
Kael stared at her. He couldn't believe the Queen would say such a thing. For a moment he was certain he had imagined it. He wanted to retort that she was hardly skinny herself, but bit his tongue. He'd rather return to Marett unscathed, or Marett might be angry.

 

“I'm a Queen, my sweet. I must not please anyone but my people, and I please them just fine with gold and security and just enough bloodshed to keep them interested. But you, child, are a pretty face. That is your importance and your role. You're meant to look sad and pretty and not say a word.” She said it so simply. She must have read his mind, or deduced his thoughts from his expression.

 

“That's not all!” Kael exclaimed, hurt by how true it was. “I'm meant to serve Is. In mind, in faith...”

  
“In body. Yes, I know. But was it Is who cut you? Who does that serve?” She motioned to his crotch.

 

He could not understand what she wanted out of this conversation. She was beyond cruel, despite her soft smile and wrinkled face. He pushed her away. Instantly her guards were upon him. She waved for them to back down. Kael swallowed hard. If she wanted him punished, he was utterly defenseless. He would have to be more careful.

 

“I don't want to discuss this. Please.” He pleaded, clutching Marett's cloak to his face. She shrugged.

 

“The ways of your Council and your people are brutal and barbaric. You will be the last of the Winter Princes, my dear. Take comfort in that. This is for the better of all.”

 

Kael didn't reply. Was it any less brutal to wage war on a defenseless people? To threaten to starve them, to isolate them? At least the Council only made one person suffer, while Queen Melara made entire countries suffer.

 

No. Kael wasn't suffering. He was chosen. It was a great honor. A great sacrifice. And, as Marett said, wouldn't it be more cruel to remain intact yet bound to the throne, with all normal urges and capabilities of a man, yet married to a God? There was wisdom in it, even though Kael had been much younger when Marett tried to comfort him. He didn't understand it then.

 

Now he wanted nothing more than see Marett again, to apologize to him, to tell him how much he had learned, and how right Marett had been. The world was an ugly and cruel place full of liars and criminals and bullies. The Spires were silent and still and cold, but at least Is would never cheat him. Is would never lie to him. And neither would Marett.

 

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I'm exhausted,” Kael excused himself, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

 

The Queen smiled and motioned to the bed. “Sleep well, Prince. I trust there is no problem with this arrangement? I sleep better with company.”

 

He wanted to object. He wanted to demand his own bed. Or lie again and said that he wasn't so tired, after all, and perhaps he could simply rest on the couch. But he was already being undressed for bed by the Queensguard knights. At least the bed was wide enough that he could huddle to the edge and leave enough room that he wouldn't risk touching her. He was exhausted but he couldn't get to sleep, even when she joined him in bed and soon began snoring loudly.

 

This would be a very long journey.

 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24. Medin V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 24 contains:
> 
> Some sexual content

**Chapter 24. Medin V**

**Skymning, Solfru.**

 

“Help! Help! Love! Lorai!” The loud voice was right next to Medin's ear and woke him instantly. He cringed and flailed weakly.

 

His clothes were torn and heavy with sea water. His expensive tunic hadn't been made of hardy enough fabric to withstand the terrible trip down the cliff side. It had scraped clear off his back and taken his tight, binding undershirt with it. He had lost his Sol symbol to the sea. He only had his tights and boots, and his back was an open, aching wound.

 

He was alive. He was being dragged up a sandy beach and then a slope of grass, up to a shack. His eyes were barely open and his vision blurry, but he could make out that much Three large dogs came running, sniffing him and wagging their tails. He groaned in pain when whoever dragged him laid him down carefully on his stomach. “Away, Ros! Lass, sit! Dis, leave him alone! LORAI!”

 

Medin's head was pounding. He coughed and vomited up saltwater across the porch. He heard running steps from inside the driftwood cabin, presumably this 'Lorai'.

 

“Why are you shouting so, Tam? I was... oh!” The soft voice rose in a startled gasp.

 

“There's one more in the boat. I need your help.” The louder voice, Tam, sounded urgent. The two strangers rushed off. The dog's obedience only seemed to extend to the immediate presence of the two, as the moment they were gone one of the three dogs rushed up to lick his face.

 

He turned his head away and coughed. Soon he was joined where he lay on the porch by Aderia, stripped of her chain mail and armor and looking even more battered than he felt. Her hands were bloody as was her entire left side from shoulder to thigh. She hadn't changed out of her travel clothing before the feast as he had, so she wore tough leather rather than thin silk, which had saved her from worse injuries. Her normally so fluffy hair was a wet, heavy mess, slicked tight to her face. She coughed and vomited too, before opening one eye. She grunted.

 

“Aderia...” Medin croaked, and she managed a weak smile before closing her eyes again. He was determined he'd stay conscious, but then one of the strangers – Lorai or Tam or both – started washing the wounds on his back with something that burned his skin as well as his nose. The pain was so sharp that his world went black.

 

-

 

The little driftwood cabin proved much more comfortable on the inside than it had looked from the outside. It had a stone hearth along one wall with a pair of open shark jaws hanging over it. There was a sleeping loft, a pantry of spices and dried fish, and some very soft sheep skins on the floor near the hearth. A tea pot was whistling at them. Painted on the wall by the ladder to the loft was portrait of Kael, or someone who looked a lot like him.

 

Medin and Aderia had been patched up. Medin was wrapped in soft bandages from just above the hips and up to his armpits. He had gotten to borrow a pair of pants that apparently belonged to Tam's brother 'up in the village'. Aderia had gotten away with smaller scrapes though they had bled more, and was patched up from left thigh to her shoulder, as well as along the knuckles of her hands. She wore one of Lorai's linen dresses and was petting all three dogs in alternation. The large, shaggy hounds had all put their heads on her lap and were wagging their tails at the attention.

 

Tam was a few years older than Aderia. She had a long face and narrow brown eyes which never quite met his gaze. Her hair was cut at chin level and was a shade darker than her brown skin. Lorai was her wife, younger but with a strangely aged face. She was heavily built almost like Aderia, yet she barely had any hips or breasts. Her long hair was white, just like Kael's. Her pale skin was splattered with dark freckles. There were flecks of paint on her skin too, temporary rainbow freckles.

 

Lorai poured four cups of fragrant, flowery tea and gave them each one. She sat down on a wooden stool next to Tam, blowing gently on her steaming tea.

 

“There. We all have tea. Who are you, now?” Tam asked sharply. There was something in the sharpness of her eyes that made Medin's face heat up. He glanced at Aderia, and she shrugged.

 

“We are from Sun City, as we said. We fell into the sea. Thank you for rescuing us. Unfortunately, we have no way of repaying your kindness.” Medin said. He had lost his dagger, his necklace, and even the pouch of small coins he had stolen from the jailer.

 

Aderia nodded urgently, sipping her hot tea.

 

“No need to repay me. Sol set me on the path to find you. I don't usually fish that far south. The waves rarely come up this far from Sun City. Besides. I see floating people in the sea, I don't leave them to drown.” Tam looked at Medin through the corner of her eyes. She sat slightly turned away from them. “In the morning, I can take you back down the coast. With extra arms to help row, we'll get there before evening.”

 

Medin shook his head. “We're not going back to the city.”

 

Upon waking up, he had found out that they had slept for almost two full days. Tam had seen the blue-and-gold sails of the royal fleet heading south just before finding them floating in the sea. Kael wasn't in Sun City anymore, and Ryca was likely gone too. The best course of action now, Medin decided, was to head for Exile.

 

“Really? That's a little strange.” Lorai spoke up. Medin was surprised she had even been paying attention to the conversation. She had a habit of staring off at nothing and mumbling softly to herself. But she was looking at him now with her eerie red-blue eyes. She was looking through him. Medin averted his eyes in discomfort.

 

Aderia gently set her cup down on the floor, far away from the dogs, and signed at Medin.

 

_She's just like Kael._

 

“No offense, Lorai, but you're a winter child, aren't you?” He asked. “I have a friend who... I mean, I knew someone like that. Uhm, he looks a lot like that.” He cleared his throat and pointed to the portrait on the wall. Aderia picked up her cup again and drank.

 

“No offense, Medin,” Lorai mimicked with an airy smile. “But you're a prince, aren't you?”

 

He was startled and looked to Aderia, but Lorai and Tam both laughed.

 

“You have the nose,” Lorai tapped her own flat, broad nose. “And the name. And the knight.” Medin just gaped.

 

“Calm down. You wouldn't be the first Brightcastle prisoners to wash up here.” Tam sighed. “During the war, my father told me his nets were often full of people rather than fish, and the sharks were fat and lazy.” She waved vaguely at the jaws decorating the wall.

 

“But to answer your question,” Lorai spoke up again. “I am a winter child. And I remember Kael, but that's not him in the portrait. That's Laela.” Medin waited for her to elaborate on who 'Laela' was, but she just continued, “I was so glad when I found out he survived, but sad, too... He always made us laugh. He wasn't very good in class, and the teachers gave him a hard time, but he was a sweet boy.”

 

“You knew him in school?” Medin asked incredulously. He didn't know much of how the Ishemish tithe throne worked. He had been lead to believe it was some sort of pageant, but beyond that...

 

“Of course. There were many of us at the Spires. Winter Children. Candidates. I was bought from a Karusi family. I think Kael was bought on Eld. I'm three years older than him. I was just the perfect age, when poor Faiet...” Her voice cracked and Tam put her hand on her shoulder. Lorai drew a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, I ran away. I saw my chance and I ran. I wasn't the only one. Me, an older boy, and a six year old girl who had just been bought. We fled north, to get through the Door. It was in the middle of the worst winter since the war.”

 

Medin wasn't sure he understood what that meant, or why she sounded so gloomy speaking of it. Aderia looked captivated and terrified by the story.

 

“Where did the others go?” Medin asked, when Lorai wouldn't go on. But the winter girl just shook her head, leaving her wife to answer for her.

 

“Lorai came through alone. She came here, to Skymning, and my family took her in.” The two women held hands and Lorai leaned her head on Tam's shoulder with a soft sigh.

 

_Lorai can help us. If she knows the way through the Door, we can get to Ishem quicker. She could get us to Exile,_ Aderia signed with an excited expression on her face. 

 

“Help us through the door,” Medin said, leaning forward. “We're going to Ishem to prevent this war. To stop my mother and explain to Kael what actually happened. He probably hates me, now.”

 

Lorai's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. She stood, abandoning her tea. She all but fled up the ladder to the sleeping loft. Medin looked after her, feeling his heart sink and grow heavier.

 

“She has nothing to do with Ishem anymore.” Tam said she grabbed her own cup and Lorai's as well. “Fuck Ishem, fuck Exile, fuck the Winter Council and fuck Is. You may rest here tonight. But I want you out by tomorrow.” She aggressively washed the cups and then headed to the sleep loft as well.

 

Medin sighed and laid down across the sheep skins.  _No luck_ . He signed at Aderia, trying to ignore the angry whispers from the loft above, then the sound of crying and soothing murmurs.

 

_If she could get through the Door in the middle of winter, we can get through now,_ Aderia signed. Her gestures were a little stiff and clunky as her hands were bandaged, and Medin hoped it didn't hurt too much to use them.

 

His thoughts were drawn to Kael. This girl was so similar to him. Kael would look so distant sometimes, and he fled when he was upset, instead of staying to stand up for himself. Medin still didn't know much about the tithe throne and how it worked. Kael had been bought?

 

_I didn't know Kael had been there. When the last winter prince was overthrown._ Medin signed at Aderia, who had gone back to petting the dogs once she finished her tea. The red-furred dog looked up at her in disappointment when she pulled her hands away to respond to Medin.

 

_When he was butchered, not 'overthrown'._ She winced.  _I guess I didn't know anything about Kael._

 

_Well, he's too cold! He didn't tell us anything._ Medin felt himself growing defensive. He was angry at himself for not bothering to find out anything about him. He knew Kael was good at singing and that he cried easily. He knew that he couldn't read or see well, that he disliked being touched. He knew he had lost an arm and he had seen the scar between his legs, but when and how it had happened he hadn't even thought to ask. He knew that he had nightmares. He knew that he was supposed to live out his life chained to a stone chair. He knew he had beautiful eyes. He knew that he hated it when there were tears in them.

 

_Of course he didn't._ Aderia rolled her eyes.  _Medin_ . She signed it as 'brother'.  _We did kidnap him._

 

_If that place is as bad as winter girl thinks, we rescued him!_ Medin insisted as his blood heated up. Everyone was criticizing him, even Aderia! His own mother had tricked him into this and yet everyone put the blame on him. It was unfair. 

 

_So if someone stole you away from Brightcastle, tried to get into your pants, and then said that they were rescuing you...?_

 

Medin snorted at that, but smiled. _I'd be in their bed in a heartbeat. Imagine mom's face when she found out I had been kidnapped._ _She'd have to pay ransom for pride's sake, but I think she'd rather I didn't return._ His smile faded. The joke wasn't very funny at all when it was true.

 

Aderia pulled him closer, and he leaned over the snoring dogs to hug her. She kissed him on the cheek. He kissed her firmly on the lips. She pushed him away and shook her head. He sat back and gave her his best puppy eyes.

 

_Even if I was not covered in dogs, in massive pain and we were not sleeping on someone else's kitchen floor, I wouldn't have sex with you right now. I love you and I want you happy, but you only ever come to me when you're sad and there's no one else to comfort you._

 

The accusation stung more because it was true. When they were children they sought comfort together all the time. Once Medin was older, he found it with others. He wasn't attracted to Aderia, and she wasn't to him, but they were comfortable together and that was all. But instead of admitting to it, he argued with a pout on his face. _I don't do that. I love you, sister._

 

_And I you, brother, but saying that doesn't change my mind. If you want to cry, I'll hold you. If you want to fight, I'll fight you. But no more of that. We're not even drunk._ She rolled her eyes and he could tell she was trying to be stern. Perhaps she had thought about it for a long time. Since he snubbed her on Dim for that captain. Medin sighed.

 

_Not even if I do that thing...?_ He demonstrated with his tongue. She burst into a fit of giggles.

 

_No, you jerk. Go to sleep._

 

At least the sheepskins were softer than the dungeon floor and the cabin was much warmer especially when he was surrounded by dogs. Soon he fell asleep.

 

-

 

To bother their saviors and gracious hosts as little as possible, Medin woke Aderia early and they made to leave before sunrise, before the two women even woke. Aderia didn't want to leave the dogs, who trailed after her while whining until they reached the top of the first rolling hill. They walked along the dirt path to the village.

 

Skymning was a small fishing town at the foot of the easternmost, snow capped mountain of the Belt, right on the northern coast of Solfru. The village was only just waking up. Fishermen and fisherwomen were setting up their nets, having breakfast and chatting in low voices in the quiet dawn. Some stopped and stared. As remote and small as it was they likely didn't get many visitors. Medin raised an arm and waved. His back throbbed in pain. No one waved back.

 

“Excuse me? Is there somewhere we can buy supplies for a journey? Horses, food, clothing, a tent, lanterns, weapons...?” He asked a wrinkly old woman who was making bread over an open fire in front of her driftwood cottage.

 

The woman peered up at them wearily and said nothing until a soft voice behind them spoke up.

 

“They're friends of mine, Ma Tani.” Lorai was there, dressed for travel in warm clothing and with a heavy backpack on her back. She held a walking stick, and at her side was one of the dogs, Ros? Lass?

 

The old woman cracked a toothless smile. “You need horses and food and clothing and weapons? We have no horses here. You can get goats or mules. We have fish in abundance, and clothes. We have fishing spears and knives for filleting, but no swords or bows to spare. Winter is approaching, and with it come wolves. We need our swords, prince, but you may have all else you need.”

 

“How did you...?” Medin sighed. Perhaps he was just more recognizable than he thought. “Anyway. Thank you, madam. Oh... we have no means to pay.” He realized. He had forgotten. He was so used to always having coins on him or being able to get things on credit, if he had gambled his last coins away. In Sun City, he took it for granted.

 

“I will cover it.” Lorai said. “I will come with you to the Door, but no further. You don't know the lands of this area. It's not safe to go alone.”

 

Lorai ended up vouching for them throughout the village as they gathered what they needed. With her influence, they were clothed for winter, given food, fire starters, and even a tent. Aderia claimed a spear for herself, used by those who fished in the river south of Skymning. Medin preferred a knife, even one meant for preparing food. They even managed to scrounge up three old, grouchy mules.

 

They crossed the river near to the mountains, and then Lorai lead them south along the Belt.

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25. Lorai I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 25 contains:
> 
> Disassociation  
> Discussion of child abuse  
> Religious discussion

**Chapter 25. Lorai I**

**The Belt, Solfru.**

 

Even in fall and this close to the Belt, the weather in Solfru was warm. At night, the temperatures dropped lower and they put up their tent near the fire, always with one of them on guard duty. They had blankets for the mules, and Lass, Lorai's blonde wire-haired wolfhound, slept in the tent with them.

 

The journey had started awkwardly, with Medin reluctantly apologizing for being so pushy the night before, and then going on to ask her all kinds of questions. Lorai tried to answer him politely, but Medin didn't seem to have any understanding of what was reasonable or not to ask a perfect stranger. Soon she gave up trying to answer and simply zoned out. It wasn't that she was opposed to talking about her time in the Spires or that it had all been bad. She was used to curiosity. But Medin was tiring her, and he didn't realize it.

 

She was glad when Aderia noticed her silence and whistled sharply at Medin. She signed something with one hand, her other holding the reins of her mule. Medin closed his mouth. Lorai breathed a sigh of relief.

  
“I understand that you want to help Kael,” she said later. Medin had been silently pouting until they stopped under the shade of a tree to rest and eat. “But I can't tell you what he's been through or not. I can't know what he's seen. And it's not my place to say, either way.”

 

Aderia took care of their mules. Even the mean one who kept trying to bite and kick Medin seemed to like Aderia. Medin petted Lass while Lorai made them a soup, boiling water with dried fish and vegetables.

 

“I won't tell you about him. But I want you to save him. I know you're planning to try to keep the Queen from going to war. Please, get Kael out of there, too.” She urged. Medin looked up at her so quickly that Lass growled at him until he started petting her again.

 

“And interfere with his life? He wanted to go back.” Medin sounded bitter.

 

“You really know nothing.” Lorai was amazed, but she supposed Medin had been sheltered. “Of course he would say that. What option does he have?”

 

“But you ran. Three of you risked your life to get away. He just wanted to go back.”

 

Aderia returned from caring for the mules and took a seat on the ground across from the fire over which the soup was boiling. She took Medin's hand and looked at Lorai with anticipation. Lorai recognized the curiosity, well-meaning but so demanding, in her eyes.

 

“In the Spires, we were told the world rested on our shoulders.” Lorai explained. “That without our cooperation, Is would kill the world with storms, freeze all life. We were to be pretty, quiet, polite, charming. To emulate Laela in every way. We said our prayers. We kissed the feet and hands of the statue. And we waited for Faiet to die on that throne so that we could take his place. The Winter Princes and Princesses rarely last long. A decade, at most.” She felt herself detach, float away. She saw her mouth move, heard the words come out. She watched Medin and Aderia too, saw their reactions.

 

Aderia trembled. Her grip on Medin's hand tightened and he winced. His mouth was open slightly, showing the gap in his teeth. She focused in on that dark space, focused to remain outside of her own body. She felt cold, gentle hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to proceed.

 

“Tradition says that Is likes winter children. The Council says that He prefers those young of mind and body. Like sweet, warm spring melting the snows of winter and bringing life back to the world. Like the first bride. Laela.” Her right index finger was drawing in the dirt, making lines, patterns. The rough texture of the slightly damp soil grounded her again. She pulled up her tunic, baring the stretch of skin just below her bellybutton and above her hipbones. She showed the scar across her abdomen.

 

Aderia gasped and covered her mouth. She and Medin exchanged a look, and Medin swore. He cursed Is under his breath, like she knew Tam would do often. Lorai imagined that she could feel the cold hands on her shoulders tightening their grip.

 

“This is not the fault of Is. He has been as ill treated by the Council as we Children have.” She said, reaching back to hold the invisible hand on her shoulder. She felt a gentle, cold kiss on the top of her head and she smiled. Aderia and Medin looked at her as if she was mad, but what did they know?

 

“Please, do not be unfair to Him. But you must stop this. The Winter Council uses the fear of the people and of the Children they raise to control Ishem. They turn us into symbols so that when the people are unhappy with the Council's decisions, we are murdered. Blamed for no longer being good enough.”

 

“But you've never been on the throne.” Medin interjected. “How do you know? Kael-”

 

“Kael is afraid too, and alone. I have spoken to Is, my once intended husband. He has watched this happen for a long time. He has seen it for what it is, and he has whispered these things to me. Knowing that you would come along. Knowing that you might stop it. There has been three years without anyone on the tithe throne. The Council hungers. If the people realize that they suffer no more nor less without tithing, if they learn the Council has lied about the wrath of the God, what else may the Council have lied about?” She leaned in over the boiling soup, trying to make it clear just how important this was. She gripped at Medin's sleeve, at Aderia's. “Listen to Him. Listen to me. Dismantle the Council. Save Kael.”

 

Medin pulled away from her grip. Perhaps she had overdone it. The fear in his eyes hurt her. She sat back and scooped them a bowl of soup each.

 

“Forgive me. But if you don't save Kael he will suffer. If he is on the throne when war breaks out he will be blamed. When he is torn apart, another will be taken to the throne instead. Another child.”

 

Aderia looked less afraid than Medin. She nodded firmly and then wrote in the dirt with her finger since she couldn't speak. Medin looked too disturbed – whether by what he'd been told or whether by Lorai's intensity – to translate her hand signs.

 

I BELIEVE YOU. She wrote. That was all Lorai needed to know. She smiled, and she felt so grateful. She wrapped Aderia up in a tight hug. Even Tam, though she meant well, didn't believe in the things that Lorai saw or heard. She said they were hallucinations or nightmares. But they weren't. Not all of them. Most, perhaps, but not all.

 

“Thank you. Thank you, Aderia.”

 

-

 

“I keep seeing something. Something strange.” Medin whispered to Lorai when they swapped watch shifts under the crescent waning moon. It was the final night before they parted. They would reach the Door by midday, Lorai was sure. “On your shoulder. A blue hand.”

 

“Yes. He is there, always. I am the only one who listens. I tell him, go to Kael. Speak to him. Explain to him. But he can't. Kael won't see. When you're afraid, you can't see the truth.” She handed him the fishing spear and crawled into the tent once he had taken her spot by the fire out. “I'm glad you're not afraid, prince. You will need to be strong.”

 

Medin shrugged. “I'm not afraid of your God. I'm more afraid of my mom, to be honest.” She giggled, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

 

“The wrath of rulers is more frightening than the wrath of Gods. Ma Tani told me that when I got to Skymning. I was so scared, then. I thought Ato and Cima were killed by Is because we fled. But they just died. People die. Not because they are evil or because they are good but because they are human. Tell Kael that when you see him. Tell him not to be afraid of Gods. Humans are scarier. Good night, prince Medin.”

 

-

 

WILL YOU BE SAFE? Aderia wrote as they broke their fast the morning after.

 

“Yes. I have Lass and I'm good with my bow. I will go faster heading back.” Lorai responded. She couldn't wait to be home. She had done her part. All that she could do, all that she dared to do, to help Kael and save any future Children. She wanted to go home to Tam, to Ros, to Dis, to Skymning. She wanted to go back to her art, her small paintings on sea shells and driftwood, to making lures, to telling stories to the village children. One day she wished to adopt some, but they would need to build a larger cabin first.

 

“Sol be with you.” Medin said, but then put on the most adorably embarrassed expression. “I mean-!”

 

“I am sure She will be. As will Is. All Gods be with you, too. I will pray for you, and I will make Tam pray for you, too. When you get Kael out, will you come see us? I would love to speak to him myself.” She sipped her tea, though she was eager to go.

 

WON'T YOU COME WITH US? Aderia wrote.

 

“No. My home is here. I'm done.” Lorai sighed. She was no prince or knight or heroine. She was a fisherwoman's wife and an artist and mother of dogs and a watcher of children. That was all she wanted to be. “I can't go back. I've worked too hard to get where I am. The Council wraps you up in chains, even before you're on that throne. I'm still learning to break mine.”

 

Medin nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

 

They said goodbye, and Lorai returned to her family.

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26. Marett II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 26 contains:
> 
> Abuse and unpleasantness

**Chapter 26. Marett II**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

The gates to the throne room opened, letting in the sunlight. Gold armored knights streamed into the Spires in two orderly lines. Marett stood before the throne. Behind him stood the rest of the Council, clad in white robes.

 

The lines of golden knights parted, dwarfing the minimal army that Marett had managed to scrounge up. The Spires guard was clad in rusted steel and leather. They looked like poor children playing dress up next to the far more impressive Solfruan soldiers. Marett's fists clenched tightly at his side. It was humiliating. The Queen approached, large and imposing in her gold and blue. He bowed. She curtsied, then stepped aside.

 

Behind her stood Kael, and Marett's eyes watered. Kael was still wrapped in that old cloak. His eyes flickered fearfully to the Queen. It sickened Marett, it turned his stomach to see Kael obey such a vile woman. The Queen nodded with a smug smile. Kael stepped forward. Marett threw tradition and proper manners aside to embrace him tightly.

 

Kael let out a sob and relaxed in his arms. Marett held him and stroked his hair. The boy's small frame shivered and shook against his. Marett's rage burned hot in his veins, but he cleared his throat and bowed his head to the Queen.

 

“You will have the finest rooms the Spires have to offer, Your Majesty. I expect you will want to discuss the... treaty.” He chose his words well and spoke as clearly as he could. He knew how she must view his coarse accent, his foreign language.

 

If she felt any disdain, she didn't show it. For a conqueror she remained polite, though her fleet blocked off the gap in the Jaws, trapping all of Ishem behind a wall of superior firepower. She could starve them out. She could burn them down. She could slay them all and there would be nowhere to run. Marett knew all these things. All of Ishem knew. The Queen knew it too, of course. She smiled and curtsied again.

 

“We would be most grateful for your hospitality. Any boring discussions of politics can wait, dear Marett” - it irked him that she used his name, not his title, earned through iron and blood - “but a wedding trumps all. Let us celebrate the safe return of the Prince, and his happy union first. After we feast and enjoy ourselves, we may speak of business.”

 

“Yes. Certainly. Will you excuse us, Your Majesty? I am sure Councilor Iona will be happy to show you to your quarters. I have much to prepare the Prince for. The new moon is in two nights.” Marett eased the embrace but held Kael close, one arm over his shoulders. He feared that if he let go, the prince would be taken away from him again.

 

“I will excuse you. But I insist that a number of my knights stay with the Prince until after we have reached an agreement. It would be such a shame if something was to happen to him. Your guards look worn thin as is.” The Queen looked so pleased with herself that Marett's hands gripped Kael even tighter. He heard a whimper of pain and relaxed his grip.

 

He wanted to tell her to go freeze to death. To return to the sea and be crushed by the Jaws. But instead, Marett gave her a stiff but polite smile and bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That is most generous. I see now why they call you the Prosperous.”

 

She bid them good night and was escorted away by Iona, the pious councilwoman with a sour face. Marett did not envy the Queen, as Iona looked quite starstruck by her presence – even an enemy, sworn to another god and here to take away what little they had – and chattered away about traditions and the Spires and the Winter Weddings.

 

Four of the golden Queensguard remained behind. Marett glared at them as he lead Kael away. They would not be able to talk freely with one another. He didn't doubt these guards would report anything said and done to the Queen.

 

“I missed you greatly, Kael, my son.” He whispered in a low voice. Kael looked up with wide eyes and nodded.

 

“Stay with me?” He whispered back. Marett frowned as he heard the strange lilt of his voice – the slight Solfruan accent slipping in here and there. How tainted had he become in the hands of his kidnappers? Marett's fingers twitched.

 

Kael quickly looked down. “You don't have to, I just want to speak to you. I'm not a child, I don't need-”

 

“Shh. I will.” He lead the prince to his room. He was certain Kael would like to see that cursed songbird of his. “We have much to speak of.”

 

They continued on without speaking through the winding dusty hallways of the Spires. The heavy metallic footfalls of the knights made Marett grit his teeth. Again he gripped Kael tighter, but he heard no sound of complaint this time. The prince was breathing slowly. Before he was stolen away, the trek between the throne room and his bedroom would have made him winded. The boy had changed too much already. Jealousy squirmed in Marett's chest like large, ugly worms.

 

The guards entered the prince's room first. Marett growled. They violated a space that wasn't theirs. Their golden armor with blinding bright suns, their sullen silence, the way they demanded so much space in Kael's small bedroom, it all angered him. How could mere knights wear such wealth? Each one of their suits of armor had to be worth more than everything in the prince's room. They moved with such discipline and superiority. Marett knew he had no chance against them on his own.

 

Kael hurried right across the room, even abandoning Marett to go to the birdcage and its chirping resident. He fed the bird, cooed it, whistled along with it. “Kay, were you good? Did you sing to Marett every day?” After a moment of trying to urge the bird to climb onto his hand, he gave up and closed the cage.

 

“You fed her while I was gone?” Kael asked with a gentle smile, wrapping himself tightly in Marett's cloak. Marett nodded, though it was a lie. The twin servant girls had fed the beast.

 

Kael sank onto the simple, wooden bed with its mismatched quilts. It was barely wide enough for two. A child's bed in a child's room, though Kael was hardly a child anymore. Marett sat next to him and helped him off with his boots.

 

“Can I keep it?” Kael asked as Marett removed the gray cloak from around his shoulders. He felt some pride in the fact that it had offered him such comfort.

 

“Of course. Anything for my Prince.” Marett folded the cloak up and sat it down on the bed.

 

He stared at the clothes the Queen had dressed Kael in. The prince looked like a Solfruan, in blue and gold. He was wearing tights that made him look like a grown man, rather than the gowns Marett usually had made for him.

  
“Tomorrow you will get new clothes,” he stated as he combed out his braids, sending glass beads and pearls scattering onto the bed, bouncing onto the rug-covered wooden floor. “Did the Queen do this too?” He asked. Kael shook his head, or tried to, though Marett had a firm grip on his hair.

 

“She picked the clothes, but the hair... at the market. In Sun City.” Kael mumbled. “Medin...” He trailed off. He saw him fumbling with his sleeve. That meant he was hiding something.

 

Marett's frustrated combing had caused the braids to tangle up and he would need to be gentle to untangle them. Instead he yanked harder. Kael's hand gripped his knee, but the prince made no effort to get him to stop. At least he understood, then, that he had upset Marett.

 

“Did they hurt you?” He asked, not caring if the Queensguard heard. He needed an answer. Peace be damned, wedding be damned, he would gut the Queen herself if her vile offspring did anything to his prince. He heard the sound of hairs tearing and breaking. The comb slid on, bringing with it a large clumped nest of white hair and shimmering glass beads.

 

“No!” Kael tried to turn to face him. Marett held his head still, watching Kael's pale face in the dusty copper mirror by the bed instead. “No. Medin and Ad... The prince was not mean to me.”

 

Kael was hiding something, and it didn't ease Marett's fears at all. With all of his hair combed out, Marett felt the silky curtain of white, letting it flow through his fingers before braiding it up tightly. He replaced the frivolous Solfruan braids with a proper, single braid. “Did they touch you?”

 

“No.” He sniffed.

 

“Did they seduce you?” He asked more firmly. Kael had never been flippant, but he had returned talking and dressing like a stranger and getting teary over some heathen prince. It took so little to undo so much work. Now that Is would finally be soothed, now that the wedding was finally coming... if Kael had ruined all of that...

 

“No, Marett! The prince did nothing to me! He was... he kept me alive, okay?” Kael hung his head, and Marett saw tears in his eyes. Was he crying because of the pain of the ungentle grooming, or because of the Solfruan prince?

  
“After taking you away from me. After putting you at risk. Is should have struck him down the moment he even thought about stealing you away.” Marett growled forcefully. He glared, at Kael's reflection, and then at each of the golden knights still watching them silently.

 

Kael shrunk away at first, he then turned. This time Marett allowed it. Kael settled onto his lap and wrapped his arm around Marett. He stroked his back. He kissed his cheek. Marett felt his anger cool, from a burning fire to a smoldering coal further back in his chest. He remembered what Sebhan had said. Kael had Marett wrapped around his finger. That should have made him angrier than it did, but long before Kael, there had been Laela. He had never met her, of course. But she had always watched over him. He had always loved her gaze, that gentle expression.

 

“Shh. I'm back. I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for worrying you. Please don't be angry. Don't be angry at me.” Kael sounded tearful. Marett wondered if he was truly sorry or only scared. He supposed the effect was the same, so it barely mattered.

 

“Not at you, sweetest. I know you would never run away.” Marett sighed. His hands became gentler. He stroked Kael's back until he stopped trembling. “You can never leave me again.”

 

“Never,” Kael echoed silently. Had the winter winds not been so uncommonly quiet Marett might not have heard him at all.

 

Marett pulled him down to lie on the bed, letting the prince rest his head in his lap. He finished braiding his beautiful hair, no longer tangling or pulling at it.

 

“High Councilor Sebhan claimed you had ran away. He said you had tricked me. Used me. That I was far too kind to you.” Marett mused out loud. He watched Kael's relaxed face for any change in expression. It couldn't be true. But if it was he needed to know.

 

Kael didn't look shocked, just opened one pale eye slowly before closing it again. He must be tired, poor child...

 

“Sebhan never liked me. Even when I was just another candidate. He would always take me aside, punish me in front of everyone else. He hated me.” Kael replied with a heavy, tired voice and eyelids closed. “I'm glad he's gone.”

 

“I killed him.” Marett admitted. It didn't matter if the Queensguards heard. That was the official story, anyway. “He and the rest of those vultures were going to defile you.”

 

Kael's eyes flew open at that. He wondered if Kael imagined the blood on Marett's hands. If he was seeing them run gently through the pure white of his hair, as if Marett was wiping them clean on him.

 

“You... what? They... I don't understand.” Kael gaped up at him dumbly. It would be endearing, if it wasn't so annoying. Always so slow. Always so naive. Marett supposed that was in part his own fault.

 

“I'm the only one here you can trust, my prince.” Marett said in a slow voice, sounding each word out since Kael seemed to have a hard time getting even the easiest concepts. “I am the only one who truly serves Is, who truly cares for you. They would take advantage of your stupidity and disgrace Is at the same time.”

 

Kael was silent for a moment. He looked away. Marett followed his gaze, eyes wandering over the sparse, candle lit walls painted with flowers and vines, over shelves of books and shelves of toys, gifts from those who sought Kael's blessing. Finally, when Marett thought he had already fallen asleep on his lap, Kael spoke in a soft voice.

 

“Thank you, Marett. You are the only one I trust. Thank you, for caring for me even though I'm stupid.”

 

Marett smiled proudly and leaned in to kiss Kael's forehead. He was glad he understood. He was glad Kael appreciated how taxing it was for Marett to be patient with him sometimes. “It's my pleasure, my prince.”

 

Kael seemed nearly afraid to, but after a moment, in a tiny voice, he asked for a story. Marett was pleased that Kael was still his sweet prince, and he told him a story that he knew was Kael's favorite. He even let Kael act as his favorite characters in the tale, though he did so more and more sluggishly as sleep slowly claimed him.

 

Kael fell asleep in the middle of the wise raven's end monologue to the fair princess, and Marett moved him gently from his lap and tucked him in. He supposed he could leave now that the prince was asleep, but he trusted the Solfruan Queensguard even less than he trusted the Winter Council.

 

So he stretched his legs, driving the numbness from them, before taking off his shoes and his white Council robe. He took off his belt and the short sword hanging from it, placing it within reach of the bed. He laid down with the lightly snoring Kael, hugging him close to his chest to not fall off the edge.

 

“Snuff out the candles, won't you?” He asked the nearest, helmeted Queensguard. The armored knight said nothing, but blew out the candles in the room.

 

Marett pressed a smug smile into the back of Kael's head. He had to celebrate the small victories, especially when it seemed like the enemy would not allow him any victories at all.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.


	27. Chapter 27. Kael VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 27 contains:
> 
> Alcohol use  
> Drug use

**Chapter 27. Kael VI**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Kael had wanted to go home since being forced to leave. The idea of being Somewhere Else, with no one to tell him what to do, was petrifying enough without the fear that Is would turn his rage on him. Then he had enjoyed being elsewhere. Terrifying as it was, awful as it had been at times. Dim had been beautiful, as had Sun City and Brightcastle. Ryca had been kind to him. She was strong and struggled to make her own place in the world. To speak to her god. To get power so that she could make the world better. Though her ways of bettering the world had turned his stomach, he understood. He hated being powerless.

 

Kael had wanted to rest. He wanted a few days to settle in, to spend time with Marett. He wanted to watch him train or sing with him or even show how much better he had gotten at reading. He wanted to sit in the orangery and point out all the plants he had learned the names and uses of. He wanted to talk to Marett about how the royal guards of Solfru trained, to show some tricks he had seen Aderia do. He wanted to tell Marett some of Medin's amazing stories, like the one about the dragon. But there was no time to rest, no time feel at home.

 

Marett's expression turned so cold whenever Kael mentioned his 'kidnappers'. Kael wished he could hate them that easily. He had been tricked by them, but that wasn't the cruelest thing. The worst was knowing that out there people were living as they wanted, even going against their destinies. Kael would never be so brave. Medin had become a prince. Ryca had found her own faith and destroyed those who hurt her. Aderia was the youngest royal guard, and the only commoner to become a Lady Knight. She was a girl who couldn't speak, who had been raised in an orphanage, serving the Prince.

 

Kael stood still in a dusty room with polished copper mirrors on all walls. He was lost in thought. Councilwoman Iona and Councilman Gion, who owned fabric factories in faraway Tué, pinned white lace and sheer silks together over his thin frame. Kael's stomach growled, but he could not break his fast until after the wedding. Marett paced by the door, sometimes throwing gazes at Kael and sometimes down the hallway. It was like going to Medin's tailor in Sun City, but drearier. He was being fitted for his wedding clothes. For his shroud. White as snow. White as the marble floors of the throne room. White as the tithe throne itself.

 

“Could the gown not be a little warmer?” Kael asked softly, looking down at himself but avoiding his reflection. The billowing sleeves came down his arms. It disturbed him to see two hands there, hanging at his sides. One pale pink, turning blue in the cold room. One white porcelain, finely sculpted with delicate fingers and fingernails, bent at the elbow.. Shaped to grip the armrest of the tithe throne. It was cold and weighed him down.

 

“Warmer!” snapped Iona, pricking him with a pin just under the right shoulder blade. He flinched at the sharp pain. “You insult your intended! You wish to shield yourself from cold? You foolish child.” She tutted, and then gasped.

 

“And look what you did!” Kael tried to turn his head to see what terrible thing he had done this time. “You're bleeding all over this lovely lace!”

 

“Sorry.” Kael said through tightly clenched jaws. She was the one to prick him, that wasn't his fault. Besides, he doubted a pin prick would bleed so much it would ruin the whole gown. Red on white. Like the Bergenias, like blood on marble. Wasn't that just perfect?

 

Iona was ranting about starting all over when Marett sighed loudly, grabbed another piece of lace-trimmed silk and hung it over Kael's shoulders. “There. By this time tomorrow, it won't show anyway. It looks perfect, Iona. Just like the paintings.”

 

“I still don't think you should be here.” Iona scoffed at him. “It is bad enough that they-” she gestured out the door at the golden armored Queensguard outside of it. “are here, but this is a sacred ceremony. You should not see the prince like this yet. You need to-”

 

Kael didn't want him to go. He tried to tell Marett as much without speaking out of turn again, meeting his gaze and pleading silently.

 

“I will have time to dress tomorrow. I have not starved on the road for a month. My clothes need no adjustments.” The rest of the fitting passed in silence. Kael was grateful that Marett stayed. He remembered what he had been told. He couldn't trust the Winter Council.

 

Whenever another council member or castle servant or rust-armored guard came with news, Marett would step out, and speak to them in low tones. With the impending wedding and the threat of war hanging over them, poor Marett was very busy. Kael may just have been imagining it, but it seemed like Iona and Gion would be more careless whenever Marett was away. Their touches felt rougher and their needles were more likely to slide through not only fabric but skin too.

 

Kael said nothing. Things had gone too far now to protest. He closed his eyes and he prayed to anyone who might listen. He prayed to Is, begging him to be a kinder caretaker than the Council. He prayed to Sol that the Queen would interfere. That this was some kind of test, that the wedding would be stopped. He prayed to <o> that he would be allowed to see the truth.

 

No one interfered, and soon he saw less than he had. By the time he opened his eyes there was a white lace veil over his face. He turned his head inside the sheer fabric and felt it tug on his shoulder. He'd been sewn into it completely.

 

-

 

The winter horns were blowing all night all around the city. On the stairs to the Spires and along the city walls, trumpeting at even intervals. Outside the Spires a path of flowers would be strewn along the main road from the north door, all along the walls, and to the Spires. Iona had told him all this once his shroud had been finished. Her voice had been full of awe. Kael had only felt nauseous.

 

Kael was waiting inside the throne room, kneeling on a blanket on the floor before the great crystal statue of Is. He was meant to pray but his mind was as empty and anxious as his stomach. He fidgeted with the stitching of his gown, picking at a loose thread. He was alone. The Council had managed to convince the Queen that the Queensguard couldn't be allowed within the hall, but he knew they had to be posted just outside the many doors hidden in the shadows of the great pillars.

 

Marett had said his goodbyes hours ago. Kael would not see him again until the ceremony. Though that was only a few hours away, the farewell had felt very final. Kael had wanted to hug him, but Marett said he wouldn't soil the white lace yet.

 

“My prince.” A voice called softly from outside one of the doors. Iona. Kael quickly pulled his hand away from the hole he had ripped in the seam of the gown. He knew he didn't need to answer her, didn't need to let her in. She would assume he was deep in trance or simply asleep and leave. He slowly climbed to his feet, careful not to rip his gown or his skin where it had been carelessly sewn to his body. He was unbalanced by the heavy porcelain arm and teetered to the right as he walked up to the wooden door. He was not looking forward to the ceremony.

 

He unlatched the door. The corridor beyond it was the Council's passage to the other Spire. Iona stood there, dressed all in red. He could make out that much through the lace in front of his already weak eyes. On either side of the door stood a golden guard, stiller than statues. Iona had come alone. He felt more at ease. He stepped aside and she entered. He couldn't make out her face.

 

She had with her a bottle. She took his left arm and lead him back to the blanket set out before Is. She knelt there and poured a cup for him. The liquid smelled strong and hot, and he recoiled.

 

“Drink, child.” She whispered. “I have wonderful news from Solfru. News that have yet to reach even the Queen.”

 

“I'm fasting.” Kael replied, cautious. He remembered the wine Sebhan had forced on him and how it had made him pass out.

 

“Drink. It's tradition.”

 

Kael took the cup and put it to his lips. He hesitated. The veil was in the way and there was no way to lift it. It was sewn to the back of his shoulders, wrapped over his head and attached to the front, like a cocoon, like a corpse's shroud.

 

“Drink.” Iona repeated and he heard the grin on her face. “Your Is slew the foreign prince who stole you. The prince and his witches are dead. Drowned. Broken on the cliffs. That is your bridesgift.”

 

The words sank in and Kael froze to his core. He put the cup to his lips and let the hot red liquid stain the lace over his mouth. He tipped his head back and forced it down. It set fire to his veins and made his head spin. He sat the cup down and Iona refilled it. The liquid sloshed in his empty stomach. She didn't have to tell him again. He drank a second cup, a third, a fourth. His stomach was full and his head was empty. His heart stopped hurting.

 

“Dawn is nearly here,” Iona spoke. Her sour voice was as loud in his ears as the horns echoing around them. They filled the air with music and colors until it was hard to breathe. His blood was full of heat and magic. The patterns in the lace before his eyes were dancing snowflakes. He danced with them, chasing away the cold.

 

He grasped for the bottle with his left hand, and he thought he saw his cold right hand close around the neck of the bottle too. The impossibility made him giggle. His stomach was ready to burst but he drank until there was nothing left to drink.

 

Is smiled down at him and rose to his feet. The statue should have broken the ceiling of the throne room, but as he stood he also shrunk until he was no longer god-sized but man-sized. His crystal hands clasped Kael's hands, flesh and porcelain both, and they danced to the music of the horns. He smelled of Sweetdream flowers and sunshine. He laughed like Medin and his hands were gentle like Ryca's and his body was warm and soft like Aderia's. His lips tasted like syrupy sweet gold.

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28. Queen Melara II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 28 contains:
> 
> Violence  
> Mob mentality  
> Drug use  
> Iffy kissing

**Chapter 28.** **Queen** **Melara II**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

The ceremony began at dawn before the new moon, only two nights after arriving in Exile. Queen Melara had lived through many Tithe weddings, but this one was the first she would witness in person. For something considered so sacred it was very public. The city of Exile was teeming with visitors. Many travelers had been stuck in the city for over a month ever since the Prince disappeared. The anticipation for this day had been high, mounting for years. The sun rose over the riotous crowds, gathering on the streets or peeking out through windows or watching from rooftops.

 

The Queen had volunteered some of her soldiers to keep the peace. The Council had grudgingly accepted her proposal, as though they had a choice. The city was in a poor state and there were far from enough guards to keep the excited, hungry crowds from acting up. There were only one rust-armored Exile guard per every fifteen gold-armored Queensguards. They all lined up along the flower-strewn path around the city. How suitable that it looked like an occupation. Melara was sure the Ishemish were grumbling in displeasure. But the Queen was far away from the whispers. She had chosen to remain with the Council at the steps of the Spires, where the ceremony would culminate.

 

It had snowed a few days ago and the cobbled streets were cold enough to keep the ground white. On top of the white snow lay wilting flowers of all colors. The infernal trumpeting of the horns finally ceased when the sun broke the horizon. Now they had to wait.

 

“The people are readying their paint now,” one of the Council members explained to the Queen. “May I just say that you are very strong for being here today?” She nodded to accept the strange compliment.

 

“The Prince has been brought to a divine trance by meditation,” the young man in red robes continued. “What is done during the parade is a reflection of the future. It's like the walk of death. The soul wanders the lands until it finds its home. It's the death of the human child, so that he may become someone worthy of a God.” The Councilor had the appearance and manners of someone with wealthy parents and little wit. His black hair was swept back and he had a weak chin, but he was pretty enough. If only he could lose that awful drawl and the way he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose all the time.

 

“And the paint?” The Queen asked, feigning interest. There was little else to do but talk in the hours it may take Kael to walk all the way around the city. Exile wasn't nearly as large as Sun City. It was barely as large as Brightcastle, with all its gardens included. And still, she expected to be kept waiting for a long time.

 

“Blood, Your Majesty. It goes back to the origins of this tradition, when actual human sacrifice was practiced. A young-” He kept droning on, and the Queen nodded here and there as she zoned out. She was glad for the chair she had been brought. She was old and fat and her feet got tired easily. Her hips were not what they had once been, and her back ached already.

 

Thankfully it did not take as long as she had feared for the sounds of cheers and chants to grow audible. Then she heard the rhythmic, hypnotic sound of drums. The noise grew louder and louder as the Prince approached, rousing more and more of the crowd to join in the celebration. The city whistled, cheered and pleaded for blessings. Between the sharply slanted rooftops, she could see a rising cloud of red dust approaching.

 

She heard the song, and she had never before heard anything so haunting. There were no words to it, at least not ones she could make out. His soft, melodic voice cracked, shrieked and howled like storm winds through broken windows. It was raw and erratic, and it reminded her more of paid wailers at a funeral or a woman in the birthing bed than a groom at his wedding day. No one seemed disconcerted. She wished the noise would stop. It was giving her a headache.

 

The parade rounded a corner and were now visible from the stairs. First rode a red-clad Councilor. That eccentric old woman, Iona. After her, two drummers in black walked on either side of the street. Several feet behind them, a red figure staggered and stumbled along, trampling roses and bergenias and marigolds under his bare feet. The snow was turning red where he walked. Behind him trailed another two drummers.

 

The crowds shouted and called out for him, throwing flowers and fistfuls of dye past the line of guards keeping them away from the procession. Kael was shrouded from head to ankle in lace and silk. Some spots on his body were still white, but the red spread fast. It looked like each blessing from the crowd was another injury, another deep stab wound.

 

When the Councilwoman reached the steps of The Spires, a black-clad attendant rushed to help her dismount. She then ascended the steps, stopping right before the great doors into the throne room. She slowly turned around to look down. She was on the same level as the Queen herself, on the very top of the broad stone staircase. The first row of drummers reached the steps and stopped playing. They stood aside, huddling by the line of knights.

 

Kael swayed on his feet. His wordless song rose and fell with no rhyme or reason. He reached the edge of the stairs and was about to start climbing. A sharp whistle came from the crowd to his left. It drew his attention and he turned to look.

  
“A gift to Is! Real blood for the Tithe!” shouted a man. Several handfuls of hard, powdered dye flew through the air at once. It was only when they connected with the prince's head and chest and did not burst like before that Melara recognized them for what they were. Rocks. Kael stumbled and raised his porcelain arm to break his fall. It shattered.

 

The crowd screamed. Some cheered, other roared with rage. The line of guards turned around as one. The crowd closed in on the saboteurs and the knights could grab them. Eight people, their faces hidden with their cloaks, were dragged out onto the street by golden and rust knights. The knights paused and looked up, the gold ones at Queen Melara, the rust ones at Iona by the gates to the throne room.

 

“I accept this gift. I shall have their blood.” It wasn't Iona who spoke. Melara turned her head.

 

The gates had been opened and out stepped the God himself. Tall, with two twisted horns sprouting from the top of his head. He was all ice blue and white and his face was concealed behind a mask. His robe flowed down to the stone stairs. His voice was rough, with sharp consonants and rolling 'r's.

 

The guards slit the throats of the rioters and left them to bleed out on the cobbled street. Two rust-clad guards approached Kael. He waved them away and staggered to his feet. His porcelain arm was broken off at the elbow. Shards of it had cut his gown and the flesh underneath. His song hadn't ceased even as he fell. Now he sang louder. The crowd was deathly silent.

 

Kael stumbled and fell to his knees with a giggle. His veil was completely red, his face invisible. As he crawled closer, the Queen could see darker splotches of red seeping through his shroud.

 

“Why will no one help him up?” She whispered to the young man next to him. She was staring in awe, her eyes flickering between the crawling, bleeding child and the costumed God.

 

“No one but those appointed by Is may touch the Prince,” the man whispered back. “Or they are cursed. They will suffer and die soon after. All Winter Children belong to Him.”

 

The Queen scoffed louder than she meant to, but no one looked at her. All eyes were locked on the prince as he dragged himself up toward Councilor Iona, and toward 'Is'.

 

“The curse is nothing to scoff at, Your Highness! Even your son-” The man cut himself off, but not before the Queen had caught what he said. She turned to him with narrowed eyes.

 

“My son _what_? He will receive his punishment from me, not from your 'god'.”

 

The man gulped sheepishly and his gaze wavered. He was not even slightly pretty anymore, just annoying. She should have him drowned in molten gold for speaking to her like that. The nerve of the Ishemish. Her chest hurt.

 

“He already received his punishment, Your Majesty! Don't tell me you haven't been informed.” He whispered, covering his mouth. His rosy face turned pale.

  
She absentmindedly noticed Iona kneeling down to help Kael drink from a goblet of something strong-smelling and red. Iona rambled some words. Kael finally stopped his inhuman lamentation. He repeated her words in a hoarse voice. All Melara could focus on were the whispered words of the insufferable Councilor next to her.

 

“I am sorry, Your Highness, I was not supposed to tell you this. A pigeon came yesterday from Solfru. The Solfruan prince and his companions attempted to flee justice and jumped to their death.”

 

The crowds cheered and screamed again. Melara looked up briefly. Prince Kael was embraced by Is. The 'god' in the mask cut the lace from the Winter Prince's mouth with his claws and kissed him. The horns sounded again, trumpeting in triumph. Kael was pulled off of his bleeding feet by the masked god and carried into the throne room.

 

The Council and nobles lining the staircase followed the procession inside. The weak chinned youth hesitated before leaving the Queen's side and following. She rose in a haze. The world was nothing but noise and color and celebration. She felt numb as she was escorted inside by her gilded knights. She shuddered and pulled her cloak closer to her body, but the cold was in her bones, not her skin.

 

Prince Kael was humming peacefully. Is carried him to the throne and lowered him onto the stone. The crowd outside cheered. The gates were closed and the noise cut off. The only sounds heard were Kael's mindless humming and the ringing of chains. Iona fitted the steel around the Prince's neck and left wrist. The right cuff remained empty, with no wrist to close around.

 

Is stepped up again and scraped his clawed glove along the seam in the cuffs. Sparks flew in a spectacular white fire. When Is pulled away the cuffs were almost seamless around the slender neck and wrist of the lazily humming prince.

 

The Queen wished she could feel such peace as she saw on Kael's face. She wanted to be as accepting of circumstances as he was. The God bent down to kiss the prince once more before stepping away into the depths of the throne room, disappearing into the shadows behind the crystal statue.

 

The Council approached Kael one by one to leave their gifts and blessings. Flowers and gold, but mostly kisses, each one accepted with a soft giggle. The High Councilor appeared soon from behind the statue of Is. He was carrying a gold cage containing a small blue bird. He set it down next to the Prince then stepped aside. Kael turned his head and cooed the bird, which remained silent.

  
“It is a great honor to be allowed to see this ceremony.” Iona said to the Queen, motioning for her to step forward when the whole Council had presented their gifts. “Since you have done us a great favor in making this ceremony possible... please, step forward to receive the Prince's blessing.”

 

The Queen did not particularly want or need this cursed child's blessing, but she stepped forth anyway. She looked down at the pale, broken child in his bloodied robes. With the veil torn from his face she could see the left side of his face swelling up and bruising. Blood was filling the white of his left eye, and his left pupil was blown wide. His right pupil was a tight pinprick, as in avid users of some types of powders popular in Sun City. She wondered what had been in Iona's goblet.

 

She had no gifts for him but if a kiss was acceptable then perhaps a whisper was too. She leaned in on his uninjured right side. He smelled of blood and wine. She kissed his ear before cursing him as he had cursed her. If this wedding was a funeral, she would give him her grief.

 

“My son is dead. You killed him.” Kael only hummed at her and closed his eyes. She wanted to throttle him for not caring more. It would be kinder than leaving him here. But she didn't. He didn't deserve the mercy. Queen Melara stepped away. The ceremony was over and she was escorted from the throne room. For the city awaited a feast and for the Winter Council with dye stained lips, a different kind of celebration altogether. Melara had heard such rumors, anyway.

 

She stepped out of the throne room and onto the stone stairs. Melara noted that the corpses had been taken away but the blood had soaked into the snow. A tired-looking man with a sharp nose, messy hair and stubble on his chin came running up the stairs. He wore Solfruan colors. Blue and gold. How lovely it was to see.

 

“Your Majesty!”

 

“Who are you?” She sniffed. She was not in the mood for talking to servants.

  
“My name is Eryc. The kitchen boy on Bloody Maella, Your Highness. Made all your meals myself, your Highness. I have grave news from Brightcastle. A bird arrived this morning.” The young man was fidgeting with his sleeves and it annoyed the Queen. She felt a sharp pain in her chest as her anger flared up. Her heartburn had acted up more lately. Traveling was hard on her aging body.

 

“If it's news on my son, I already heard. Thank you, Eryc. I enjoyed the last meal you cooked before we came into port. And your pineapple pie.”

 

“I am glad to hear you say so, Your Majesty.” Eryc bowed deeply. He was cute, with a decent sense of respect. Far more charming than the Councilboy. His eyes were beautiful. This may just be the distraction she needed.

 

“Ishemish cooking is ghastly. Will you stay in the castle and cook for me? If I need eat another greasy meat pie, I think I might just drop dead.”

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29. Aderia VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 29 contains:
> 
> Death  
> Creepy crawlies  
> Implied dub-con

**Chapter 29. Aderia VI**

**The Summer Door, The Belt, Solfru.**

 

Once the moon-eyed Lorai had left, Aderia and Medin were on their own, with only two mules, a filleting knife and a fishing spear, and the daunting realization of how large the Belt truly was. The snow capped mountain tops were hidden beyond the clouds. The air was thin and cold. Looking east, they could see the gentle sloping hills of Solfru. The snow on the Belt never fully melted, not even on the Solfru side. In winter, the snow would crawl down the mountain sides, spreading like a mold to cover the north. Somewhere far in the distance lay the coast. They had to be higher up now than even the top of Brightcastle's golden dome. It rarely snowed in Sun City, and the snow never stayed on the ground once Sol awoke. It was only on top of the dome and the towers that the snow might remain, and then only for a few hours after a snowfall.

 

“Where is this 'Door', anyway?” Medin asked as they rode next to one another under the scorching hot sun. It was fall, and much colder here than by the coast, but the sun remained warm until it vanished beyond the mountains on their right.

 

_We will know when we see it_ , Aderia signed. She had a tight grip on the saddle with her knees. She was used to riding horses without holding the reins with her hands. It jerked just then, nearly shaking her from the saddle. She grabbed the reins tightly and hushed the unpredictable animal. It wasn't as well-trained as the patrol horses of Brightcastle.

 

“Oh, right, because you remember.” Medin joked but there was venom in his tone. It hurt. Medin was acting colder than he ever had. He told insensitive jokes before, but he had moved from blunt and ignorant and into callous. She understood that he was in pain from his scraped back, but she was in pain too, and she was not taking it out on him.

 

_I don't, but I've read about it. Miss Flore in school taught me about it when she told me about my parents._ Aderia signed with a cold snort. Her movements felt slow. She didn't even have the passion left to get angry at him. 

 

Her parents had fled terrible conditions on Eld in Ishem when she was just a baby. It had been winter and her mother hadn't survived the journey. Her father had gotten to Sun City and tried to care for her himself, but was overwhelmed. Before she ended up starving, he had surrendered Aderia to the Priesthood's orphanage and disappeared.  _It's big. We'll see the entrance when we pass it._

 

“Sorry. Shit. Aderia, I'm being awful.” Medin groaned. At least he recognized it.

 

Aderia rode closer, putting a knee in the side of her mule when it started snapping at Medin's mule. The two animals stopped their fighting for a moment.

 

 _Yes._ _You are._

 

He sighed and hung his head. She patted him on the thigh. She was well used to his dramatics and his 'moods'. They were often superficial and fast changing. But lately he'd started acting different. Then again, it would take someone very strong not to be upset by all that had happened.

 

“Do you think Kael is home yet?” He asked after a moment of silence. Aderia shook her head.

 

_Unless the winds are perfect, he will be in Exile tomorrow or in another two days. Are you worried?_

 

“Yes, I am. He's with my mother. She has probably nagged him to death by now. Or,” he shuddered, making a fake gagging sound. “Seduced him. Poor Kael...”

 

Aderia laughed. It was a hoarse, throaty sound. Not very pretty, just like the scars on her throat, but she didn't care. _How scandalous. He'll be a married man soon._

 

Medin's smile faded, and he looked away. Aderia sighed. It hadn't been a very funny joke. She was worried too.

 

“We'll never see him again, you know.” Medin said to the Belt as the sun slowly sank behind the jagged mountaintops. He wouldn't look at her. “When he's _married_ ,” he spat the word like it was the most disgusting thing in the world. “We need to get there first.”

 

Aderia nodded silently, though Medin wasn't looking. She spurred her stubborn mule on, and it walked very slightly faster.

 

-

 

The sun had set entirely behind the mountains when they finally reached the Door. Miss Flore had been right. None of the drawings Aderia had seen of the Door had not done it justice. It was a massive, natural cave in the largest mountain of the Belt. The opening was overgrown with moss and vines, though a path had been cut in the center. A road came right up to the Door. If they followed that road to the east they would end up on the other side of Solfru, at the coast just south of Sun City. But they were headed west, into the cold and dark tunnel.

 

The great opening in the rock was large enough to fit the greatest dome of Brightcastle, but it soon narrowed. There was a small climb up the mountain before the cave ceiling concealed the purple sky. Medin unlatched an oil lantern from Aderia's backpack and lit it. They rode side by side, barely flinching as bats escaped the light over their heads. The air became colder and colder as the tunnels turned narrower and narrower. They kept climbing. Soon they could no longer ride side by side without scraping the rock walls.

 

Medin took the lead. He whistled a melody that sounded familiar. When Aderia recognized it as the song Kael had sung on Dim, she urged her mule to go faster. They had to hurry.

 

The whistling stopped. Aderia rode her mule right into Medin's. The mule screeched and shied back. The screeching was echoed by thousands of bats – no, birds, these were birds. Black and with deafening wings and metallic, echoing cries that reminded her of courtyard executions, of the golden bell, of slow agonizing death by heat. They swooped down over their heads, flying desperately toward the entrance.

 

Aderia dismounted to see what Medin was stopping for. The moment she set her feet on the cave floor, the animal screeched again and backed up in panic before turning and fleeing. The saddlebags with their food bounced heavily on its retreating back. Aderia groaned. Luckily she had packed some food in her own bag too. She walked around Medin, unharmed but shaken. His face was pale. Right before the hooves of his mule lay a human skeleton, stripped of all but its clothes.

 

“Those birds...” He muttered.

 

Aderia shook her head and pointed to something that was making a scraping noise just out of the range of the lantern light. Medin grabbed his bag and dismounted too, sending his mule running after the first one. He rushed forward to catch the creatures hiding in the dark off guard. The light reflected of something metallic and writhing – no, those were carapaces, shiny insects as thick as a man's arm, with thousands of legs and writhing bodies and snapping jaws.

 

The centipedes gave up a rattling hiss and scurried away, disappearing into cracks in the rock walls or up into the dark ceiling until not a trace of them could be seen. The only sign that they had ever been there were the bones of what might have been a wolf or large dog, with flesh still remaining in places. A chill shot up Aderia's spine. She pressed closer to Medin. There were cracks all around them, large enough to conceal one or a hundred of those flesh eating monsters.

 

“Let's not sleep until we're out of here.” Medin whispered to her. He stared over her shoulder into the darkness. She nodded.

 

-

 

It was impossible to tell how long they were underground. There was only one tunnel, part natural, part man-made. Aderia was glad for their lantern but dreaded that it might run out before they escaped. If the light was the only thing keeping those things away they were as good as dead. She didn't blame Lorai for not wanting to come with them. Though she did blame her a little for not warning them about the centipedes.

 

Cold winds were howling through the cave. Aderia shivered and Medin's teeth clattered. They pressed near to one another. But the winds were a good sign. The tunnel was widening and the cave floor was covered in frost. Stalactites ended in icicles. Their breath showed as puffs of white smoke.

 

Soon the walls were covered in ice. Aderia relaxed. The cracks in the walls were blocked by ice. There could still be wolves, she supposed, like the carcass they had seen near the entrance. Aderia would rather fight a pack of wolves than a writhing nest of giant centipedes.

 

They stopped to rest and eat. The lantern was set down and they unwrapped their bedrolls to sit on. Half their supplies had gone with the mules so they had to be very careful with the remainder. They ate some dry bread and salted fish. Aderia broke off some icicles and melted them into water over a small fire. It was far from a satisfying meal.

 

“I wonder if those creepy things are edible.” Medin mused out loud as he stared intently at a deep crack in the rock. Aderia snorted.

 

_Would you go near one?_

 

“You're my Princeguard, and the one with a spear. Go on, protect your prince's life by saving him from starvation.”

 

_You're no prince anymore, are you? Officially, you're dead._ She sighed but smiled at his attempt to brighten the situation. She still shuddered at the thought of those things.

 

“You did a terrible job, then.” He chuckled, and she laughed along, but didn't find it all that funny. Being 'dead' might well have saved their lives. Regardless of Midsommar's promise of an acquittal, the threat of the golden bell was frightening. That punishment was saved only for the most wretched of criminals. Treason was a heinous crime.

 

_Okay, so what's our plan this time?_ She signed once Medin had finished chewing the tough fish and hard bread.

 

“Go in, kidnap Kael again, beg mom not to start a war... then go to Freja and party. I've heard they have the best dancers in the boat cities. Oh, and find Ryca, of course. I'll buy her a new dress. She looks awful in pants.” Medin grinned. The dark circles under his eyes and the gap in his teeth just served as physical reminders of how much everything had changed. Of how wrong everything was now.

 

_That's rude. She's always beautiful._ Aderia rolled her eyes.  _Great plan though. What could possibly go wrong?_

 

“Exactly. That's the spirit.” He kissed her forehead. She kissed his cheek. They packed up again and kept walking.

 

-

 

The daylight was blinding when they finally saw it again. It wasn't even sunny. The Ishemish sky was overcast but it was daytime. Snowflakes were sailing down slowly from the clouds. The sloping landscape below them was all white and green, thick with pine woods. They emerged on the west side of the Belt halfway up the mountainside, and Ishem stretched out before them like a great basin.

 

Far away in the west, over forests and hills and a stretch of water, the sky was darkened by the smoke of Eld. Aderia filled her lungs with clean, cold air. Her parents had covered all that distance, carrying a baby, weakened by a life in the smoke and ash of the volcano. She felt a new respect for them. As a child, she had been angry at her mother for not surviving the journey. Now she was impressed that she made it as far as she had.

 

“Can you see the Spires?” Medin asked, having his eyes on another landmark, closer than Eld but still barely visible. Two sharp points, faint in the distance, towering over a white and gray town.

 

_We're so far away._ Aderia felt hope slip away. Their mules gone, they would be forced to walk the distance. They were several days away, and they didn't have more than two days worth of rations. They might hunt, but Aderia had never hunted in her life. There was no need to hunt for food in Solfru.

 

“We'll get horses in that town,” Medin decided. “We don't have money, but we can trade.”

 

They headed for the village at the foot of the mountain, hoping for the best. But there were no horses for sale, not even horses to steal. They would need more rations. They entered a store with a sign declaring it to be a 'general market'. Aderia looked around, deciding what they would need and how much, while Medin spoke to the shop owner.

 

“If you don't have money, you don't get food,” the surly man said. “Unless you work for it.”

 

Medin threw a quick glance at Aderia, who was bagging apples, dried meat and hard rye bread. She shook her head at him. They didn't have time. It would be better to take the things and run. Though they might not get far by foot before they were caught, especially with the heavy snow coating the ground.

 

He turned back to the shop owner and leaned in over the counter. “We don't have a lot of time. I'm sure there's something I can do for you...”

 

Aderia watched Medin take the man's arm and disappear through a door into the back of the store. Her heart sank in her chest. Angrily, she picked more things off the shelves. Wine, a few tinderboxes, new gloves, a hunting knife. She even grabbed two pairs of leather and fur boots standing by the door. She put one pair on and hid the other pair in her bag.

 

She waited by the door, eyes closed and humming loudly enough that she could block out the sounds. When she heard steps she looked up. Medin had returned. He gave her a brave grin but his eyes wouldn't meet hers. He said nothing and neither did she. They left quickly, and once outside, Aderia showed him what else she had taken. Medin was worth far more than some meat and some worm-eaten apples. The boots kept them warm as the snow fell faster around them.

 

“It's strange,” he mumbled, breaking the dense silence as they walked through the night. “I've done so many things for free, but...”

 

_But that was different._

 

“Yes. It felt different.” He took a deep breath. “But we needed food and it's not like I could ask mom to pay this time. We didn't have time to get a job and earn money, and we have nothing else to sell. I had to. Right?” She could tell he was expecting an answer. Forgiveness, maybe. Or assurance.

 

_You had to. Thank you. You are braver than I, my prince._ She leaned her head on his shoulder and felt him tremble. She was so angry she trembled too. She wasn't angry at Medin, but at the shop keeper. At the world. At this snow. At the Queen. At herself. She could have helped, but she hadn't been prepared to cross that line.  _I should have helped._

 

“Ugh. No. No way, Aderia, I did not need that mental image. I put us in this situation. I'll set everything right again.” His voice was burning. Aderia felt less worried. If he was getting fired up rather than sinking lower, then perhaps he'd be okay.

 

_That bad?_

 

“Let's just say it's obvious the Ishemish eat less fruit than us.”

 

Aderia let out a shout of disgust and faked gagging. She wanted to make him laugh and he did. He laughed and hugged her. She hugged him back as hard as she could until he yelped in pain and she remembered the scrapes. She let go.

 

The sky darkened above them and the clouds finally parted, revealing a sliver of a moon. Aderia's pulse quickened. It was nearly a new moon. That was when tithe weddings happened.

 

She prayed to any god that might listen that the royal fleet would find only calm seas and no winds. If Kael got to Exile before the new moon they would never make it on time. Medin did not pray with her, but kept his gaze fast on the distant city, their destination.

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30. Eryc I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30 contains:
> 
> Dysphoria/disassociation  
> Violence  
> Some gore and gruesomeness

**Chapter 30. Eryc I**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

The Queen insisted. And so it happened that Eryc, the kitchen boy, was admitted to the Spires. The throne room was off limits, of course, so soon after the ceremony. But the guest chambers assigned as the Queen's bedroom weren't. Eryc would have preferred it if they were. Yet he took it as an opportunity to make sure this would all get a peaceful solution with no bloodshed.

 

“Your Majesty, forgive me if I'm talking out of line here-”

 

“You are, but go on.” The Queen was in a good mood. Eryc had made sure of it. She barely looked at him from where she lay reclined in bed. Her dark skin glistened with the oils he had massaged into it.

 

“We will suffer terribly if you go to war. Not only the Ishemish, but Solfru too. Death and starvation, and not to mention the costs in steel and food. Peace is the onl-”

 

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Stop talking. You are here to help me relax. That is all I need you for. If I have to remove your tongue for it, I will. And such a shame it would be. I suppose you would still have hands.” Her smile was as sweet as her voice. Honey laced with venom.

 

Eryc resigned himself to silence and refilled her wine. She had already drunk more than enough. It was a good thing too. She was already too lax to insist that he did anything more than massage her hurting back. He bent to his task and rubbed the fragrant oils into her wrinkled skin.

 

“Ow. There, you see? I was feeling wonderful and now my heart is burning again. Leave me. Find a bed somewhere. You're useless,” she scoffed drunkenly, waving her goblet at him and spilling wine on the bed.

 

Eryc hurried out, ignoring the silent and still guards outside her door. He reached into a pocket of his coat and drew out his pipe. He lit it as he wandered the halls and steep staircases of the east Spire. Here were the quarters for the Council, the guest rooms and the kitchens. The halls resounded with celebration. Drinking, singing, laughing and eating. The Queensguard, those not on duty anyway, was feasting. From outside the Spires there were more shouts and drunken cheers. Yet there were no one wandering the dusty halls but Eryc.

 

He found a door slightly ajar. He had been lead to it as though by instinct, so he pushed it open and peeked inside. The room was darker than the hallway. Just inside the door, on top of a splintery wooden dresser, stood a candle in a holder. He lit the candle on his pipe and stepped into the room.

 

The room smelled of dust and cold. Eryc picked up the candle and looked around. At the polished mirror, the painted walls. Flowers. Delicate, worn flowers in pastels. There were toys on shelves along the wall. Dolls, stuffed animals, books. A child's room. One dresser contained a coat, a gown and four right arms. They were made from carved wood, painted to look like pallid skin, with hands in different poses. They were pristine, though dusty, and the leather belts meant to keep them in place on a shoulder were smooth as if new. A book on the bedside table contained a pressed, dried flower and a bristle hairbrush lay on top of it. In the bed was a stuffed animal of linen, some kind of cat perhaps, worn and with loose stitching. There was also a gray wool cloak, smelling of sweat and rum. Eryc picked it up and put it on under his own coat. He felt like he should hold onto it.

 

A door in the far wall of the bedroom was made of glass, leading out into a greenhouse. An orangery with wilting fruit trees and dying flowers. Outside the glass the night sky was dark. There was no moon to illuminate the snow covering the gardens.

 

The air was too cold to allow anything to remain alive for long, and the soil in the pots was too dry. Eryc picked up a watering can he found by the door and started caring for the flowers. It seemed like the right thing to do. The respectful thing, even if it would be in vain. Water or no water, no flower could live for long in this cold place. This had been the room where Kael had spent most of his life. And yet it was in such disrepair. Dusty, filthy, worn. Dying.

 

After watering the flowers, Eryc put the small stuffed cat from the bed in his pocket, snuffed out the candle, and left as silently as he had come. His head was heavy, his thoughts sluggish. He needed to sleep, but he wanted to see Kael.

 

He headed down into the kitchens. Using the servant passages now felt strange. She wondered if the little girl was missed. If it had been the child of an older servant. She wondered if the child had been mourned and buried as she should have been. But Eryc did not wonder this. Eryc knew nothing of it.

 

The kitchens were as silent as the rest of the castle. Perhaps the servants had been given the night off due to the celebrations. He heard a light snoring from an adjacent room. That would be the cook, then. He silently prepared some tea, making a large pot of it and bringing several cups. He wasn't sure how many might be in the throne room, but if it was the entire council, there would be fourteen including Kael. And of course, there was the fifteenth cup for Is. He carried it all on a wooden tray that had seen better days, the nicest one he could find in the kitchen. The trays they had in the monastery were in better shape – yet, this was not a thing that Eryc would know, and he swiftly pushed it out of his mind.

 

He made his way to the throne room, his thin arms trembling under the weight of the tray. Once he came closer to the east Spire, the gold helmeted guards were everywhere. He was in the right place, then. He approached the door as though there was no doubt in his mind as to why he should not be allowed through. Two guards, these in rust and leather, crossed their spears to block the heavy door.

 

“Who sent you?”

 

“No one, my lords,” Eryc bowed his head deeply in reverence. He spoke a rough Ishemish, like the kind he had heard from the shop owners in the central marketplace. “I thought I'd offer my own tribute if I may? Nothing much. Just something strengthening. Good for the head and body. Brings you luck, too. My old nana's recipe.” He babbled, putting on a starstruck, wide-eyed expression.

 

One guard muttered something to the other and the door was slowly opened. The other guard squeezed through and the door closed again, but not before Eryc heard soft hums coming through it. Soon the guard returned and gave a brief nod. “Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't address the Prince.”

 

She stepped aside and allowed Eryc through. He bowed in thanks and entered.

 

The throne room was as haunting and cold as ever (though Eryc had, of course, never seen it). He looked around in wonder, eyes grazing over the statue of Is, over the throne, over the semi circle of red-clad councilors. They had brought in cushions and sat around on the floor in front of the throne. He nimbly stepped out of his shoes and approached from the back of the vast, dark room.

 

The gathered members of the Winter Council – Eryc counted to only five, including High Councilor Marett, the religious alderwoman Iona, and the young heir of the former High Councilor – looked up when he was near. He didn't dare to look at Kael, but heard the consistent, weak humming to his left. He knelt on the floor and sat the tray down in the center of the semi circle.

 

The humming stopped, and Eryc glanced to his left very briefly. His stomach turned, his heart beat faster. He fastened his eyes again on the tray. He had only managed a brief glance, but the mess of blood and bruises and deathly pale skin turned his stomach.

 

“Who are you?” Asked the High Councilor, the man Kael had spoken so highly of. The man whose cloak Eryc wore under his robes.

 

“My name is Eryc, My lords, my lady. I bring an offering of tea to celebrate this joyous occasion.”

 

“And what makes you think that the prince has need of the offering of some Solfruan boy with more dirt on his face than hair on his chin?” The youngest Councilor asked in a tone so loud that it startled a hiccup from the prince chained to the throne.

 

Eryc didn't allow himself to get flustered. He knew this story. He had practiced it in his head. “I was born here, wise councilors. I was raised in the faith of Is, and with traditions of this country. My mother came from Frost, and married a man from Eld. I moved to Solfru later. I couldn't attend the gifting ceremony, so when I heard the Queen was traveling with the Prince here, I made the effort to go into her service so that I may attend a Winter Wedding. Please. I am a poor man with nothing to my name but my cooking skills and the traditions taught to me. Allow me to give what little I have. My mother told me this brew on Gardenia, ginger root and many other plants was traditionally made only for joyous moments. It brings blessings and luck, strength and health.” He bowed low, nearly pressing his head to the floor, before looking up. He met their eyes, looking briefly at each of the Council's faces.

 

The wrinkly Iona looked taken by his passion. The young man looked skeptical. The High Councilor nodded slowly, the lantern lights reflecting off of the shaved side of his head. The two other men to the High Councilor's right looked impressed and curious respectively.

 

“I see no harm in it.” Iona said. “As long as the boy has the first cup.”

 

Marett nodded. “Yes, I agree.”

 

“But-! The first cup must go to the highest in status!” Eryc protested. “I could not presume...!”

 

“Drink. I speak for Is, and I give permission.” Marett said firmly.

 

Eryc nodded slowly, hesitating as he poured himself a cup and drank the steaming beverage slowly. It was delicious, as he knew it would be. It had medicinal effects, of course. Promoting healing and health, peace of mind and calm. It was a ruse to see Kael, nothing more. His heart beat faster as he sat the cup down and waited. The council said nothing for a moment, before Marett nodded. “Serve us your tea, and you shall have your blessing.”

 

Eryc poured seven cups. “I am not looking for blessings. All I pray for is the health and happiness of the Prince and his good Husband.”

  
Iona tittered at this. “So humble and sweet. Would you not prefer to stay in my service, dear boy?”

 

Eryc forced a grateful smile. “That would be a great honor, madam, but I am afraid the Queen is quite fond of my services already.”

 

Iona sighed. “Yes, they say she is often looking for... services.”

 

Eryc didn't comment. He served a cup to the great statue of Is first, setting the tea down in front of the crystal statue. The second cup he offered to Kael with a deep bow, daring to look up at him now.

 

At a second glance, there was not so much blood as Eryc had imagined. It was the powdered red dye, seeping into fabric and skin. The real blood had clotted and turned black, clumping in the hair at his left temple, filling his ear and drawing dark, cracked lines down his neck. The left side of his face was swollen and bruised. His left pupil was blown wide, the whites of his eye had turned red and black. The most unsettling was the way that side of his face drooped, with drool running down his chin in a steady stream, tears running down the corner of his damaged eye.

 

A porcelain arm was attached to his right shoulder, filling out the sleeve of his shroud. It had shattered above the elbow, an arm twice crushed by mobs turning on him out of fear. Shards of porcelain had sliced his hip and side, with shards still stuck in his lace shroud. Eryc had not seen the attempt at his life, but he had heard of it many times since, from passing servants and from the Queen herself. The injuries were worse than he had thought they'd be.

 

Kael looked at her without recognizing her. Eryc felt relieved and disturbed at once. While he didn't trust that Kael was in a state of mind where he wouldn't simply blurt out her name, he was terribly scared that something had been permanently damaged in his head after the attack.

 

“For you, Your Highness.” Eryc said in a soft voice, placing the cup in his left hand. The prince's fingers closed loosely around the smooth cup. He dropped it the instant Eryc let go. The tea spilled, steaming hot, over his lap, and the cup fell to the floor and shattered around Eryc's bare feet. The dye ran red like blood, washing the shroud white again where it soaked in. Eryc gasped and quickly dabbed at the hot tea with his robe, as the Council moved to stand behind him. But Kael only giggled and took Eryc's hand, stopping his frantic wiping. He turned his head to look down at the kneeling Eryc with his uninjured eye.

 

“Thank you.” He said, his voice slurring as though drunk. “My head hurts. Please. A new cup.”

 

Eryc nodded fast and poured him another cup, this time helping him hold it and bring it to his lips. Kael swallowed thirstily, but almost half of it escaped his lips and ran down his neck, washing away the blood and saliva.

 

He requested a third cup and Eryc complied, helping him drink with shaking hands. When Kael was satisfied, he waved Eryc closer for his blessing. Kael pressed his cracked lips to his ear. What he whispered was no blessing at all.

 

“This is a land of ghosts. I never saw them before, but now I do. I know who you are, and we are all ghosts. Winter brings nothing but death. Stop fighting. Rest.”

 

Eryc pulled away, wide-eyed. The flicker of recognition vanished from Kael's eyes, and he shuddered. He started whistling an unsettling melody.

 

Eryc slowly turned his back on him and served Marett, Iona, the two older men and the young man, in that order. They enjoyed their tea in silence as Eryc waited, finally enjoying a cup himself, as the hummed melody by his side grew louder and louder. The hairs on Eryc's body stood up. He felt sick.

 

“Forgive me, Councilors, but is there a reason the prince has yet to be given medical attention?” He asked as politely as he could, though he'd been told to only speak when spoken to.

 

“Nothing must be altered between the new moon and the first full moon.” Iona explained. “As the prince has walked to his throne, he must remain.”

 

Kael screamed. Eryc flew to his feet. Kael's hand was grasping at his left eye. His fingers were shaking, and he was letting out a steady stream of disjointed words.

 

Iona was at his side quickly, grasping his hand and pulling it away from his face. “What do you see, my Prince? What is Is showing you?” She whispered hotly. There was a burning hunger in her eyes and she licked her lips.

 

“Nothing! I can't see anything!” Kael cried. “My head hurts so much, it's not stopping! I can't... everything is spinning!” He vomited all over himself, tea and what looked like blood or wine.

 

“You poisoned us!” the young man hissed, throwing his cup far away. Eryc shook his head quickly.

 

“No, no, my lords...!” He hadn't. But he feared less for his own fate than he did for Kael's injuries.

 

Marett stood and reached for Eryc, who turned to Kael fast. He didn't know much of medicine, not anymore. Herbs, yes... but there was always someone at the temple who came seeking answers. <o> could see all, including illnesses of the body and mind. This was Ryca's knowledge, not Eryc's. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter when Kael died, whether he was Eryc or whether she was Ryca.

 

Head trauma. Headache. Kael could be bleeding inside the skull... Eryc had no drill, but Ryca had to do something. He quickly rehearsed what little Ryca knew of the brain and its areas. She knew where the skull was thinner. She knew where the most important functions of the brain were centered.

 

Eryc drew a blade. Not Ryca's pretty dagger, that had been lost somewhere along the way, but a small knife meant for the careful dissection of plants. She was at Kael's side – Ryca, not Eryc, Ryca's hand was steady and her voice was commanding, Eryc bowed his head and stuttered – and tipped the Prince's head back.

 

“Close your eyes, my prince. Everything will be better soon.” She said, and she plunged the small blade in just above his left ear, pulling back the moment she felt the resistance give. She saw a rush of blood at his temple, darkened as though it had already been clotting under his skull.

 

She was tackled to the ground and disarmed in another heartbeat. Kael was no longer screaming. At least that was something, she thought, as she was dragged away.

 

 

 


	31. Chapter 31. Marett III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 31 contains:
> 
> Gore and medical descriptions  
> So much pain  
> Please tread with caution and revisit the warning tags on the top of the page because this is not pretty

**Chapter 31. Marett III**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

The kitchen boy was dragged away to the dungeons on Marett's orders. He would deal with him later, when Kael was out of immediate danger. He called for the physician, ignoring Iona's insisting that it was against tradition.

 

“If you mean to say that you would prefer the Prince to die, I will have you arrested for treason,” Marett snarled at her. Iona stumbled back, eyes wide and furious, but rather than pushing it, she left. The rest of the present council hurried out with her, fearing Marett's rage.

 

Good, he thought, stroking Kael's matted hair. Their traditions made this happen.

 

Kael was bleeding from the wound in his head. He was barely conscious as Marett clutched him to his chest. Soon, but not soon enough, the council physician arrived.

 

He looked Kael over with sighs and mutters, shaking his head. “Head trauma caused internal bleeding. The trepanation is a botch job... but might have saved him as much as it hurt him.”

 

He took out his own instruments. A razor cut away Kael's beautiful hair from the left half of his skull. They matched now, Marett thought distractedly, both their skulls half shaved. The physician cut through the scalp and peeled part of it back. He brought a curious half-moon blade to Kael's skull. Marett held the boy's head still, but couldn't watch as the physician loosened a chunk of bone. Marett braved a glance, and saw something bloody and pink swell out through the hole. He looked away again as the wound was cleaned up.

 

“Injured eye... blood clotting... something's floating around in there.” The physician grunted as he pinned Kael's left eye open with two fingers and held up a lantern to his face.

 

“Prince Kael... can you hear me? Do you understand me?” Marett asked as the physician started washing Kael's face. He even cut away the shroud and threw the vomit-and-bloodstained lace aside. The physician examined the Prince's chest and cleaned the porcelain shards from his side. He undid the clasps and removed the shattered arm. It was breaking all tradition, but Marett valued Kael's life far more than tradition. And so would Is, surely.

 

“Blink if you hear me,” Marett pleaded.

 

Kael didn't blink but the right corner of his mouth trembled, while the left hung motionless. Marett clutched his hand. Kael squeezed his fingers.

  
The physician stayed in the throne room with Marett and Kael to monitor the swelling of his brain. Soon it receded, the scalp was stitched back, and the man wrapped clean bandages loosely around Kael's head. Marett was exhausted and his eyes burned, but he didn't want to sleep.

 

-

 

The sun was starting to rise outside and the birds in the rafters of the Spire woke and started making noise. The song bird in the gilded cage next to the throne woke and started chirping. The throne room turned brighter and brighter, and the prince slept, leaning back on the throne. Marett rested his head in his lap and drifted in and out of dreams and nightmares.

 

He felt fingers stroking over his shaven head and thought he must still be dreaming. Then he heard Kael speak. His words were slurred, and only the right eye seemed able to focus properly on Marett's face. Still, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

 

“Marett. I see him now.” He hummed. “I see Is. He loves me. Oh, Marett, he loves me so much.” Marett stood and clutched Kael's hand to his lips and kissed it. He held it to his own face to warm his cold fingertips.

 

“He does, my sweet. He always has. Since before you were you.” His words were hot, pregnant with meaning. Marett was the High Councilor, the one to speak directly for Is, more so than the old crone Iona. Until now, that Kael could finally see Is, Marett had been nearer to the God than the Prince himself.

 

“He has your face. Marett, are you Him? Are you the god given flesh?”

 

Marett was taken back by the question. He wasn't Is. But if that was what Kael saw after a day of drinking the truth, scaling back the veil of lies and confusion with sacred herbs, it must be the truth. Marett wanted it to be the truth. If Leala could be born again, as she must have been, couldn't Is as well? He nodded, wanting it so desperately.

 

“Yes, sweet Prince. I am. I always was. Finally you see it.”

 

Kael's grin was lopsided. He was crying. “I'm so glad it's you. I was afraid of him. But if he's you...”

 

Marett kissed his bruised forehead, his swollen cheek, his cracked lips. Kael trembled and pulled back. The poor prince must be shy. But it was their wedding night in a way, if what Kael had said was true. Marett had not yet been struck dead for daring to touch him. He had played the role of Is the day before. Perhaps it had always been meant to be like this?

 

He felt braver as that understanding filled his mind. He pushed closer until Kael could not retreat further. Marett was grasping Kael's shaking hand tightly. They had come too far to waste time on shyness.

 

“I'm right here. It was always me. You were always afraid that Is would never love you, but I did.” He whispered against Kael's cold, tightly clenched lips. The prince was crying. Tears were expected. Marett wanted to cry too. He had won. He had conquered. He was overjoyed. Behind them the statue of Is threw reflections of blue light on the white walls. It was beautiful.

 

“I'm afraid.” Kael slurred out, and Marett shook his head, putting a finger to his lips to silence him.

 

“You are always afraid, sweet, of everything and of nothing. I would never hurt you, Kael. Have I ever hurt you? How could I, when I love you?”

 

Kael nodded, but whether he nodded to show that he understood or to indicate that Marett had indeed hurt him didn't matter.

 

“I don't want-”

 

“You won't disappoint me, Kael.”

 

“That's not what I-”

 

Marett kissed him again. Poor Kael most be confused. He had hurt himself so badly. Evil people had hurt him, and Marett had punished them, like a real god, like a real husband, like a good guardian and teacher and father. Everyone that had hurt his prince was gone. Everyone that had even thought about it would be gone soon, too. Marett knew Kael was right. If Marett was Is made flesh, then he would do his duty.

 

-

 

“I love you, Laela.” He breathed afterwards, brushing Kael's hair back and holding him to his chest. Kael was curled up against his chest on the throne, breathing fast and grasping Marett's arm so tightly it might well bruise. Poor prince. Kael was afraid to let him go again. He understood completely. He had even bitten him in his passion. How sweet he was.

 

“Marett...”

 

“It's okay, my sweet. You suffered blows to the head. Your emotions are confused, your memories are jumbled, words are hard to find. You could barely express yourself even before this. You need not say anything. I know what you feel.” He soothed him.

 

Kael shifted in his grip and the rattle of chains jolted Marett out of his blissful stupor. He slipped out on Kael's right side, where no chain was holding him down, and adjusted his clothes. Just in time, as there was a loud knock on the door behind the throne.

 

“Come in.” He called.

 

It was Iona who entered, looking flustered and breathing hard as though she had been running. “High Councilor! Prince!”

 

“Ah, yes. Lovely to see you, Iona. The prince has recovered well. Turns out our 'kitchen boy' saved him. Set him free at once. I would like to reward him handsomely.” Marett grinned. He was in a wonderful mood.

 

“It's the Queen!” Iona croaked out between pants, clutching at her chest as though she may fall dead right there. That would have made the day perfect, after so divine a morning. “The Queen! Marett, the Queen...!”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone tells you something is for the greater good, or that something that makes you uncomfortable is what's best for you, they probably don't have good intentions.


	32. Chapter 32. Medin VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 32 contains:
> 
> Classism  
> Medin finally getting told what's up

**Chapter 32. Medin VI**

**The Belt, Ishem.**

 

With just the two of them, sleeping in shifts became tricky. They got only a few hours of sleep each, resting in the day when the sun melted the sparkling white snow around them, making it drip from the pines. At night they walked. Over their heads the moon vanished into darkness, then started growing again. They had missed the new moon. Hopelessness settled into Medin's heart but his feet kept moving forward, trudging through the snow in old wheel tracks, where it wasn't as thick.

 

They had walked for days on salted meat, apples, wine and bread. Vital supplies he had gotten them at the foot of the Belt. On this side of the massive mountain range, at least the sun was with them throughout the day. They followed the mountains south on the outskirts of the dense, silent woods. At night they could see smoke over the tree tops – Eld was far in the distance, closer were villages and cabins deep in the evergreen woods. The day before they had come across a river coming down from the mountains and running south. It moved too fast to freeze, and when one of them rested, the other would keep watch and fish. Wolves were a threat, great mountain cats another. Avalanches and sudden blizzards was the most lethal threat, and one that weapons and campfires would not save them from.

 

The white road laid ahead of them. Medin thought they were maybe another two days from Exile. Aderia guessed one. His entire body was hurting so much. He had never walked so much before. He was used to riding, but trudging through the heavy snow and the cold was taking its toll. Aderia was faring better, but she was used to walking around in heavy armor, while Medin liked it best if he wore less. They stopped for rest, and Medin volunteered to sleep first.

 

They set up their tent and bed rolls and Aderia made a fire while Medin crept into the tent to sleep. It was cold, but the further south they got the warmer it was and the snow was not as thick on the ground. The sun warmed their dark, waxed canvas tent. Inside it was comfortable. He fell asleep fast, but he didn't get to sleep for long.

 

A rough shake woke him as Aderia waved at him frantically. He groaned and crawled out of his bedroll. Once he got out of the tent he saw what Aderia was trying to tell him. She pointed down the road, and he saw smoke, approaching steadily. He nodded to her and they settled down to wait.

 

A wagon drawn by a massively large horse was coming up the road. The wagon was entirely covered, with a chimney sticking out of the back of it. It was brightly painted. As it got closer, Medin waved to the driver, and the man halted the horse. A window latch opened in the side of the cart, and two children peeked their dark little faces out curiously. Aderia waved to them, and the children waved back, giggling.

 

“Did you come from Exile?” Medin asked the man, trying to speak slowly as he had yet to master the Ishemish accent.

 

“Aye.” The man on the box seat scratched his scruffy beard and squinted at them. He was wrapped in furs. “The city gates finally opened. We were stuck in that city for weeks.” He grunted, glancing back at the children.

 

“So the prince was found?” Medin asked, having a bad feeling about that. A very bad feeling. Aderia met his gaze briefly.

 

“The wedding was two days ago. We stayed for the feast, but now we're finally going home, and fast. The weather's clearing up already... here's hoping for a happy marriage. We'll need it.” The man muttered.

 

“Let's hope.” Medin said, feeling blank. “Say, are we far from the city?”

 

“By foot? I'd say a day and a half. But I wouldn't head for the coast now if I were you. Turn back north. Go back through the Door, foreigner.” The man seemed friendly enough, even as he said that.

 

Aderia gave Medin a startled, confused look. He shrugged.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why? Because of the bloody Queen, that's why.” The man grunted. “Pray for Is to save us.”

 

It seemed the man had decided to get his family home fast, because he didn't explain it further as he spurred his horse on. And despite suggesting Medin and Aderia go back north, he didn't offer to take them. Then again, if he was traveling with his children, he probably wasn't keen on inviting strangers into his wagon.

 

Aderia refused to take her turn to rest and they pressed on. They came upon more travelers after the first, on horses or in wagons or sleighs, but the rest seemed less keen to talk to 'foreigners'. Medin knew his accent was recognized as Solfruan, and if his mother had done something to anger the people, he didn't blame them. But he was full of apprehension. The gnawing worry was worse than the pain in his back and his legs. Aderia held his hand as they walked, until she decided to talk.

 

 _I'm sure she's okay_ , Aderia signed.

 

“Who?” Medin blinked.

 

_The Queen._

 

Medin hadn't even considered the alternative. He had expected his mother to be causing trouble. Killing people or insulting people, something like that. Starting a war, or taking on half the Council as part of her entourage of concubines.

 

“Of course she's okay”, he said firmly.

 

Aderia nodded and took his hand again.

 

-

 

Exile was surrounded by a tall wall of gray stone, cracked and covered in moss and vines. A guard tower stood right over the open gate, but it was empty. They entered through the north gate. The streets were pink from some kind of powder. Trampled flowers littered the cobblestones, and people were rushing back and forth. Some shops had been boarded up. They came upon several instances of families clearing their homes and filling up wagons with belongings.

 

His mother's golden guards were marching the streets. Medin kept his head down and Aderia pulled her hat down tighter over her hair.

 

_Let's find Flower Boy_ , she signed. 

 

Medin supposed that was a good plan. He didn't want to attract any attention to himself yet, and they needed information. Seeing as they had some things to hold over Domra's head... he might be a safer bet than going to anyone else. The city was tense, and people eyed them coldly as they walked along on weary legs, heading for the Spires, and the flower shop.

 

“If he's still here.” Medin sighed. They had given him all that money, and the way everyone else seemed to be heading he might have already taken off.

 

The market was crowded and panicky. There was blood on the cobblestone near the staircase, and Medin felt extremely uneasy. He tried not to look at it. Tried not to think about what it meant. The Spires themselves were kept under tight control, with Solfruan royal guards and Ishemish ones both. Medin glanced up at the great gates to the castle temple, but caught no glimpse of his mother, or of Kael, of course.

 

The flower shop stood ignored as people crowded to stalls selling furs, food, lantern oil, weapons... hysteric townsfolk yelled and fought over items. It reminded Medin of the markets in Sun City around festival times, but this was a different level of desperation. Aderia tugged him along up to the locked wooden door of the flower shop. The painted sign over the door was gone.

 

“I don't think he's here.” Medin whispered to her.

 

She frowned, but still reached up to knock on the door. There was only silence. Medin tugged on her hand, but she persisted and knocked more firmly. She pressed her ear to the door.

 

“Come on, Aderia. Let's talk to someone else. Let's find mom. She won't-”

 

Aderia hushed him sharply. The door opened a fraction, and a narrowed eye showed in the slit.

 

“Who's there?” Domra asked in sharp Ishemish. Now that Medin had heard some different variations of the language, it sounded so much like the leader of the smugglers, Exor. He shuddered.

 

Aderia smiled and waved. Domra groaned but opened the door slowly for them.

 

“Only two of you this time?” He asked with a tired voice. He was carrying an infant child on his hip, rocking the child from side to side as the child slept against him. Medin stepped into the barren shop and closed the door after him. “Though I guess that makes sense... I can't believe you got me into this, sunshine girl.” He scoffed. Medin noticed he had dark rings under his eyes, and that there were a couple of gray strands in his brown hair.

 

_Sorry_ , Aderia signed, her eyes on the child.  _We just need information now. About Kael._

 

“About mom.” Medin blurted out before biting his lip. “About the Queen.”

 

Medin's outburst woke the child and it started crying. Domra swore and walked off into the back room, pulling the infant into his arms and rocking it, singing gently. Medin hurried after, as did Aderia.

 

_Here_ , Aderia signed, holding her arms out. Domra hesitated, but finally gave the infant over to her. Aderia held it tight to her chest and rocked it, humming and whistling softly. The child gave a sobbing giggle, and soon calmed down. Aderia let the baby rest against her soft chest. Medin felt jealous. He was cold and cranky and wanted to scream until someone held him and made him go to sleep too.

 

“I didn't know you had a child,” Medin said in a whisper. He hoped that was understood as an apology, too, because he meant it as one.

 

“I didn't.” Domra sighed, slumping into a creaking wooden chair. He ran his hands through his messy short hair. “Her mother was... her mother died three days ago. She hasn't slept much since.”

 

Neither, it seemed, had he. Aderia gave a sympathetic whimper and kissed the infant's downy ashen hair gently. The child was darker than Domra but lighter than Aderia. She looked like she could have been theirs. Aderia had told him before that eventually, she would want to adopt children. The way she looked at the babe in her arms, her eyes so warm and gentle, gave Medin even more reason to want to sort this mess up soon. Aderia was a knight, and loved being one, but Medin wanted her to be able to be everything she desired to be. Mother and knight and at peace.

 

“What happened?” Medin asked, though he wanted so desperately to know about everything else. It only seemed decent to ask about that, first. “Did you... were you... close to the child's mother?”

 

Aderia rocked the child and looked at Medin and Domra, paying close attention though she couldn't participate in the conversation with her hands firmly holding the sleeping infant.

 

“We weren't really close. She lived near here. Ran a pharmacy. Not the legal kind. Her name was Borga. The girl is named Camellia. Like the flower.” Domra smiled sadly. “Borga was... hm. Angry. With the lockdown of the city, with the new High Councilor... she and some of her friends believed that the old ways were better. They attacked the Winter Prince and were killed on the spot. I saw it, I was right here, on my doorstep... I knew she had a daughter, raising her on her own in her shop. I hurried there, when she... anyway, the baby was right there, in her crib. A local kid was babysitting. A sweet boy. Lille, I think. I told him to get out of there, grabbed Camellia. We barely made it out before the city guard swarmed the place. They knew Borga. She's been in trouble before.”

 

“Why didn't you take her to an orphanage?” Medin asked. Aderia glanced at him with a hard expression on her face.

 

Domra let out a cold, barking laugh, but quickly covered his mouth. Camellia stirred, but didn't wake up. Aderia hushed him. He blushed and looked away.

 

“Have you seen the state of this city? The Council can barely pay to keep a city guard... what makes you think they'll pay to feed the children of scum like us?”

  
“You're not-” Medin began to protest, but Domra interrupted him.

 

“You're a Prince too, right? I know your land must be different. But you wouldn't even be here if you didn't need something from me. You wouldn't look twice at this shabby store if you didn't want me to do something for you. I mean nothing to you beyond that. And she means less.” He pointed to the infant in Aderia's arms.

 

Medin gritted his teeth. “That's not fair.” He hissed through the gap in his teeth. “I don't think-”

  
“Maybe not, but the Council wants one thing. Power. That means gold, and that means the Winter Children. Those are the only kids they are willing to spend money on. Camellia is not a Winter Child, thank Is. She will grow up a normal child. I'm leaving Exile. That Solfruan gold will buy a good horse and a wagon. We're going to South Port, and I'm getting my family, and then we're fleeing too. We would go by sea, but... With all your mother's ships blocking the bay, there's only one way out of Ishem. Curse your Queen. I would have rather stayed here, or go to Karus, perhaps. But now we're stuck here.”

 

Aderia mouthed a question, and Medin wanted to know the same thing, so he voiced it for her.

  
“Why is everyone fleeing? I'm sorry, but we've been... indisposed for a while. A little out of the way of carrier pigeons and horse express.” Medin asked, his heart beating uncomfortably hard in his chest.

 

“The Queen has threatened us with war, prince Medin, while you've been busy playing dead. Now please, leave us alone. I want nothing to do with you royalty and your politics. It's bad enough I was tricked into unleashing this chaos. I didn't even tell anyone when I realized who you were. And now... now there will be no Ishem left. I just want my family to be safe. Please.” Domra pleaded, but he sounded angry. There was a cold sense of pride in his voice.

 

“My mother did? But I thought she wanted peace. That's why she brought Kael back!”

 

“Your mother fell ill. The day after the wedding. Her body is on its way back to Solfru, while her soldiers remain here. They are only waiting for the order from Queen Midsommar. And trust me, prince... It would be best to be far away from the coast when it comes.”

 

 

 


	33. Chapter 33. Kael VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 33 contains:
> 
> Hallucinations  
> Brain trauma  
> Gaslighting  
> Abuse

**Chapter 33. Kael VII**

**The Tithe Throne, The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Kael marveled at the taste of food, the warmth in his mouth, the creamy texture of the tomato soup as it was fed to him slowly, spoon by spoon. He felt fuller, the warmth spread from his stomach and throughout his frozen, aching body. But how was that possible, when the person holding the spoon was a ghost? How was that possible when he himself surely was dead, or at least dying?

 

He soon felt completely full and pursed his lips, turned his head to the side. The spoon bumped against his cheek before Ryca noticed. She apologized and wiped the spilled soup from his chin before setting the bowl aside on a little table she had pulled up to the throne. Kael turned his head to the other side so he could see her. It was like the left side of his head was dead; he could only see light or dark with his left eye, he could barely hear anything, and the muscle control was too poor to keep the corner of his mouth up. He couldn't feel it, but the way Ryca dabbed at his chin told him he was still drooling.

 

“Where is Marett?” He tried to ask, but his words kept slurring. Marett had told him what had happened, and Ryca had explained it too, but everything had been a blur since he'd been told Medin and Aderia were dead and drank the wine Iona had offered him. Something in his head had broken, and that was why everything was suddenly so difficult, and why he kept seeing strange things. Like Ryca.

 

She frowned at his sluggish question and stroked his hair back before adjusting his bandages. “He is overseeing the construction of a crown for you.”

 

Kael frowned at that. Winter Princes didn't wear crowns. Only Is wore a crown. Marett had explained this part too, as had the physician. A piece of bone cut out. He still didn't quite understand. “That's wrong.”

 

“It's necessary to keep your brain safe.” Ryca explained. She looked strange. All her soft hair was cut short. Kael almost wanted to cry. The physician had cut some of his hair off, and Marett hadn't seemed happy.

  
“You look wrong.” He said. He reached for her face, touching the stubble with trembling fingers. It was rough on his fingertips. He didn't mean to say it like that, but thoughts were slow, and they didn't turn to words right. But Ryca was so patient with him.

 

“I feel wrong.” Ryca smiled, taking Kael's hand in her own and kissing the back of it. “But I was in hiding. I suppose I can shave my face again now.”

 

“You're dead.” Kael said, and it felt like he had said it over and over again. No matter how Ryca explained, the fear was stuck in his head, and it came out through his mouth.

 

“The Queen thought I was. I'm not. I'm here.” She pressed his hand to her throat. He could feel her pulse under the coarse dark beard. He breathed slower again, his own pulse slowing down to match her steady beat. They breathed together, forehead pressed against forehead. Kay chirped sleepily in her cage. Kael felt sleepy too, once the panic died down.

 

“Medin. Aderia. Exor. Ochre... the rest.” He said later, after Ryca had helped him use the chamber pot, washed him off and tried to dress him. With the chains it was difficult, but she wrapped him up in cloth and dressed his feet. She wrapped Marett's cloak around him. The scent triggered memories. Fever. Illness. He saw the ghosts of them. Flitting at the edge of his vision, to his left side where he couldn't see anything real.

 

“What about them?” She combed his hair out gently. She was so careful. So different. She didn't tug hard on the tangles, she worked them out with care instead.

 

“Gone. And here.” He shuddered. Remembering. Remembering...

 

“You see them right now?”

 

Kael nodded, and it made him dizzy so he had to lean back and close both eyes. He still saw them. That meant... that meant, it wasn't true. They weren't there. He was relieved, and sad.

 

“Exor and Ochre are dead. You know that, Kael. They're gone, and they're not here. They're not gonna hurt you. The dead cannot hurt the living.”

 

“You killed them.” Kael said. He remembered that. But he didn't know if he remembered right.

 

“I did. I protected you, and Aderia, and Medin, and myself. They wanted to hurt us.”

 

“And the Queen.”

 

Ryca was silent. He opened his eyes again. Looked at her. Her face was hard to read. Finally, she shook her head. “No. That wasn't me.”

 

Kael was confused. She had died as the others. Maybe that had been the curse of Is. Or maybe Ryca was lying to him. He hoped not. He liked Ryca. And he was already so confused.

 

“Am I dead?”

 

“No, Kael. You are still alive. And you're strong. You'll stay alive for a long time yet.” Ryca sighed, brushing what remained of his hair.

 

“Marett said... he called me... someone else's name. Someone who's dead.” Kael struggled to find the right words, to communicate what was happening in his foggy mind.

 

“You're Kael,” Ryca said sternly. “No one else.”

 

Marett lied, he thought. Sometimes he remembered things different from how Marett said they were. But his brain lied to him too now, so he couldn't know. He had thought he'd seen his little sisters too, washing his face and bringing him food like when he was a child. His brain kept lying to him.

 

“What about Marett?” Kael squeaked, clutching onto the warm cloak, rubbing his face against it. He could barely feel it against his left cheek, but he smelled it. Sweet rum. Sweat. Marett. And salt, the sea.

 

“What about him?” Ryca stopped combing out his hair to braid it back. The left side of his head felt cold where his hair had been shaved off. Where the bone was gone, and the skin was sore and soft and swollen, with no skull underneath.

 

“Please don't kill him.” Kael was crying. He could feel the heat of tears on his right cheek, his blurred half-vision blurring more.

 

Ryca held him gently to her flat chest. She smelled of incense and soap and he relaxed, slumping forward against her until the chain pulled taut and the iron around his throat made it hard to breathe. “Why would I kill Marett?”

 

He couldn't reply. He remembered. Ryca had told him. About that teacher. About what he did to her. About what she did to him. But Kael didn't want Marett dead. Even if it hurt, even if he was scared, he didn't want him dead.

 

“Kael.” She pulled away, crouched before the throne to look him in the eye. Her hands were firm on his shoulders. They made him nervous, even though they didn't hurt. “What did he do?”

 

The door at the back of the room opened, and Kael knew it was Marett before he saw him. The sound of his footsteps. The pattern of his breathing. The scent. The presence. He sat up taller and pushed Ryca away.

 

She straightened up too, cleared her throat as she stood tall before the throne, looking back past the statue of Is.

 

“High Councilor.” She bowed. “The Prince has been fed and cleaned. His coordination seems better, and his memory is improving as well. I think he may make a good recovery.”

 

Kael strained to hear as Marett approached the throne. Ryca stepped aside as Marett stopped before the throne, bowing deeply. He was handsome in white and blue. Kael's heart stopped for a second when Marett leaned down. His gaze flickered between Marett's eyes, only able to focus on one brown eye at a time. As Marett came closer he could taste him on his tongue even before their lips met.

 

Marett lingered until it was hard for him to breathe, but Kael couldn't, wouldn't pull away even when he felt like he might die if he didn't. He wanted to push Marett away. Ryca was there, and that made the difference. Marett had spent every night with him since the wedding and yet _this_ was unbearable.

 

“Tomato soup? I thought you hated tomatoes, sweetest.” Marett said as he broke the kiss, his fingertips brushing gently over the soft spot on his head. “Your crown is ready. It's a thing of beauty. It will suit you well.”

 

Ryca said nothing. She always took care to stand on his right, to protect his weak side, for the last few days since Marett had released her from the dungeon and allowed her to care for Kael. Kael glanced up at her, and her face was a cold mask. He feared for Marett's life.

 

“I like it when Ryca makes it.” Kael offered softly. “Thank you, Marett. You always care well for me.” Perhaps if he spoke like that, Ryca would be convinced. Maybe Kael would be too. Like a prayer, he repeated the words in his head. _You care for me, you care for me, you love me, please._

 

Marett smiled and nodded, kissing his forehead as he slid the steel crown, heavy and silvered, over Kael's brow. It was a circlet with several rough points around it, pointing up like on the horned crown of Is. On the left side, the crown extended down to cover the coin-sized hole in his skull, gently curving so the steel did not press on his head. The strangely lopsided thing made Kael's neck ache from its weight.

 

“Of course I care for you. You make me happy.”

 

Kael wasn't worried about that. He was worried about what Marett might do if he didn't make him happy anymore. It was more difficult now, when he said things he didn't always meant, or in ways he didn't mean. When he was chained down. When he couldn't think properly. “I want to make you happy.”

 

“You always do.”

 

A lie. Marett was lying again and it made Kael's heart beat faster. He grasped tighter at the cloak, inhaling deeply. If only he could tell him clearly what he wanted. What made him happy. Then Kael wouldn't be so afraid all the time. Now that Marett was all he had, the only one left alive that cared. No. Wait. Ryca wasn't dead. She was still there. He forgot again.

 

“I love you.” Kael said. “I'm sorry I'm so difficult.”

 

“I forgive you.” Marett smiled. “I love you too, Kael. You know that.”

 

Kael nodded. He knew that. He knew Marett loved him. He knew Marett wanted to be happy with him. He understood if he was disappointed. He understood if he was angry sometimes. Kael was difficult. And more difficult now. He knew. He remembered.

 

Marett dismissed Ryca and took a seat next to him, and he talked about so many things. About the dead Queen. About the war that was coming for them. About how Is would keep them safe. About how Marett felt more and more like Is. About how he would declare it, soon. The change of traditions. The change of rule. Kael only listened for a little while, the words melting together, before he felt sad and cold and tired again.

 

“Am I boring you?” Marett asked coldly when Kael nodded off. He shook himself awake.

 

“No. Sorry. I'm tired. Head hurts.” He murmured. “Could you tell me a story?”

 

“I was telling you a story, Kael. You clearly didn't find it interesting.”

  
“Sorry.” Kael said nothing else. There was nothing to say. Marett's words had floated into one comforting stream of voice. It was soothing, and that made him tired. He shifted uncomfortably in the stone throne. He hadn't sleep well or enough.

 

Marett scoffed and left. He walked out as the throne room darkened, leaving Kael alone again. He wanted to go after him. To get up and follow. Or leave and return to his bedroom, his greenhouse, his bed. Oh, what he'd give to sleep in a bed, with pillows and blankets. Lying down flat.

 

Kael stood, leaning back so that he wasn't strangled by his chains. He turned on the spot. Stretched his legs. His balance was off, but he rested his hand on the armrest to stay steady, before creeping back into the throne with his legs pulled up under him. He leaned sideways against the backrest and closed his eyes.

 

He hadn't slept for long until he heard the sound of metal breaking, creaking. He opened his right eye and saw Ryca in the dark, felt the chain tug behind him as she was cutting through the links of the heavy metal binding his neck to the stone.

 

“We're getting out of here, Kael.” She said. “I'm getting you out of here.”

 

He was blinded by the tight feeling in his chest. His heart beat so hard it might tear itself apart. He couldn't leave the throne. Only death waited if he let himself be dragged from the throne. Death by strangulation, by evisceration, by stoning or fire. He couldn't. Marett would die. Marett would hate him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

 

He screamed. He kicked and screamed and fought her as she tried to cut the chain binding his wrist, too. “No! No, no!”

 

Kay, his pet bird, started screaming too in her cage next to the throne. He heard the sound of heavy boots running toward them. Ryca swore, looked at him in hesitation. He shook his head wildly. His vision was blurred by panicked tears but he still saw the fear and disappointment on her face. Ryca turned and ran, and the guards came after her, hot on the trail of her billowing skirts.

 

Marett came running, too, and he held Kael as he shook and cried, kissing his tears away. Kael wanted to push him off, too, but he wanted the comfort more than he didn't want his kisses. He could bear it. He could bear all of it, if Marett didn't leave him. As long as he wasn't left alone in this world, he could do anything Marett wanted him to.

 

Marett hushed and calmed him, stroking his hair gently. He stopped crying and babbling, his heart rate slowed. It no longer felt like he might die from his heart exploding in his chest.

 

A loud explosion sounded outside the Spires, rocking the whole temple castle. Then another loud boom and shrill screaming. The gates were thrown open by a guard in rust and leather, his head bleeding as he limped in. “There is canon fire! My lords, we're under attack by the Solfruan ships!”

 

His voice was silenced as a glistening blade burst through his leather chest plate, and he went limp. He was kicked forward, and a gold-armored, helmeted soldier stepped through, blade bloodied. He stepped into the throne room, followed by another four, six, ten, more gold soldiers.

 

Kael felt curiously calm as he saw them approach. He grabbed Marett's hand firmly. They could die together, like this. It would be so much better than being alone, than slowly starving or freezing to death in a cold, dark room on a cold, hard throne because Marett forgot about him.

 

Marett gripped his hand tighter and clenched his fist. Kael let out a scream when pain exploded in his thumb as it was broken, and Marett tugged his arm back sharply, pulling Kael's hand out of the steel cuff and throwing his thin body over his shoulder. Marett took off running to the back of the throne room.

 

“Kay!” Kael shrieked, his hand pounding with pain. He tried to reach back for the bird cage, for the sun soldiers that would give him such swift peace. A quick blade to the heart. He heard his bird shriek in fear as the gilded cage was kicked over by heavy boots, but Marett didn't stop running.

 

 

 


	34. Chapter 34. Domra II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 34 contains:
> 
> Discussions of abuse  
> Discussions of murder

**Chapter 34. Domra II**

**Central market, Exile, Ishem.**

 

The streets were thick with people on the move, packing carts and boarding up their houses and stores. Some children were playing with a ball in the alley, trying to ignore the chaos around them. The ball was sent rolling under a carriage, and a small girl with a cleft upper lip crawled under the large wood wheels to get it back. Her friends laughed and cheered when she returned with a cheeky grin. Across the street, a woman cried as she tried in vain to fit all her belongings in her cart.

 

Night had already fallen and Domra was delayed. He knew Aderia meant well but she was hindering more than helping, with her and Medin running around like decapitated chickens trying to pack and keep little Camellia calm. The little girl was sweet and bubbly when she was given food. Domra had scraped together as much milk as he could, goat's milk or cow's milk. He kept the jugs of milk up in the attic bedroom, where he had stripped the fabric off the wall to keep the room cold. He and Camellia had slept on the floor behind the counter since he'd taken her in. Keeping her food fresh was more important than sleeping comfortably.

 

Medin had managed to get hold of a wagon and horse even in the chaos. Aderia guarded it fiercely with murderous glares and crossed arms. Domra carried the sleeping child against his chest in a sling, and Medin packed the wagon with food and furs from the flower store.

 

“You can go.” Domra said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Thank you for all your help, but please. Go do whatever you need to do.” He didn't want to know. He had seen them signing something about the prince... and he would not, could not, get involved in that again.

 

_We've caused trouble for you_ , Aderia signed.  _I want to fix it._ But she seemed mostly enamored with Camellia, cooing and wiggling her fingers in the babe's face each time Domra came near.

 

“You've caused trouble for everyone here.” Domra replied coldly. He had slept poorly, he had an orphan child strapped to his chest, and his home was likely to be wiped out due to the actions of these two. He felt as though he had good reason to be unhappy. “But I don't see you helping anyone else.”

 

“We w-” Medin started, but screams and shouts made him cut himself off and turn his head. There was some commotion up by the Spires, interrupting the indignant reply on Medin's lips. Domra swore and got onto the back of the horse.

 

“There's your distraction. Go steal away our one hope of surviving this. I need to go.”

 

Guards were running out through the gates and down the steps. Aderia held onto the reins of Domra's horse, shaking her head, but he brushed her away and took off. The horse wasn't fast, especially not drawing a cart and in such high traffic, but he was on his way.

 

He made it halfway to the west gate before he was stuck in a line. Carts drawn by horses. Carts drawn by people. People carrying large packs on their backs. Some people with little more than the clothes on their body. It was completely backed up. His heart beat fast and hard in his chest. What were they doing up there? Was the line even moving?

 

By the time he realized the gates out of Exile were locked, and that the people at the front of the line were arguing with silent, gold helmeted guards, he was boxed in by other fleeing townspeople. There was no way of turning the cart around.

 

“Fuck it all!” He swore loudly enough that Camellia woke up. Rather than crying she let out a giggle and went back to sleep.

 

He got down from his horse and grabbed two jugs of milk from the cart, a pack of dried meat and slung a wolf pelt over his shoulder. It was all he could carry easily. He started trudging back on foot. He knew other ways to get out of the city. He returned the way he came, only to find Aderia and Medin just where he had left them, with a third person. He remembered her vaguely as a tall woman but she looked like a man now, or at least had the beard stubble of one.

 

Aderia was embracing the tall person, crying. The tall one was crying too.

 

“Ah, flower boy. You're back.” Medin grinned at him. He grunted in reply. If things hadn't moved so slowly, perhaps he would have been out of the city already. “And you lost the cart and horse. You know, they weren't cheap...”

 

“You're a prince. You have gold to spare.” Domra replied in a grouchy mutter. “Excuse me, I have a child to save and a family I might not reach in time, thanks to you. Good luck.”

 

_Be careful._ Aderia signed. She got up on her toes and kissed Domra's cheek, before pressing her lips to Camellia's head too. Then she handed Domra her spear.

 

He couldn't accept it, leaving her defenseless. He protested, but Aderia's attention was back on the tall person. Now that he looked closer, they looked exhausted, paler than he remembered.

 

“He wouldn't come with me.” Their voice was deep and comfortingly smooth and melodic. “He's in a bad state. He's not safe there. We need to-”

 

Domra told himself to mind his own business and get going. But instead he interrupted. “The Winter Prince is not meant to be safe. He's meant to be a sacrifice. It's a great honor. And you will get us all killed if you try to interfere.”

 

“His name is Kael,” Medin said firmly, lifting his dimpled chin like a defiant child. “And I want him to be safe. Fuck your Council. They have nothing to do with the will of Is.”

 

“And you know anything about that!” Domra was infuriated that this foreign prince with his endless gold and good looks thought he could say anything about Ishem and its faith. Domra wasn't even particularly religious, and he hated the Council as much as anyone in the poorer parts of Exile but to hear those words from someone so entitled angered him. “What is the will of our god is OUR matter, and it doesn't affect you. Besides, he's safer in the Spires than on the streets. Some would rather see him dead, like in the old days.”

 

“You would not call it the will of your god if you knew what is being done to the Winter Children.” The tall one said coldly. They glanced pointedly at the child in Domra's arms. He hugged the babe more tightly to his chest, fearing the ice in the stranger's kohl painted eyes.

 

_What did they do to him, sister?_ Aderia signed with a look of concern on her face. 

 

The tall one shook their head. “He'll tell you if he wants you to know. But we must save him. The gods won't interfere, but I will. Please. Help me set this right.”

 

“We were going to,” Medin said. “But if he doesn't want our help, if this is where he wants to be, I'm not forcing him to leave. I'm not kidnapping him again, Ryca. If he wanted help it would be different, but he hates me. How could I blame him?” The prince ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, and Aderia reached over to stop his hand as he worried at his hairline.

 

“I doubt this is where he wants to be. Whatever choices he make are forced by the Council. He's dependent on them. Of course he's going to do as they say. Just like you, with your mother, rest her soul. Or with me, in school. If you need that person to survive...” The tall one – Ryca – trailed off.

 

Domra really needed to get going but he was drawn in now. He hated the Council. He disagreed with the tithe throne as a concept. Perhaps, if he had had less to lose, he would have been getting involved more directly rather than standing on the sidelines feeling confused.

 

_What about you in school?_ Aderia, the sunshine girl, signed.

 

_Remember our history teacher?_ Ryca signed back. 

 

_The one who died?_

 

Ryca nodded.  _The one I killed._

 

Aderia's black eyes grew huge, and Medin's eyes widened too.

 

“You killed a teacher?” Domra asked, and Ryca stared at him. He guessed she had forgotten he too could understand sign language. He supposed it was an unusual enough skill that they assumed no one else around them understood it.

 

_But you loved him! He was your favorite teacher. He always gave you top grades, and special lessons after class._ Aderia protested.

 

Ryca's smile looked strained. “I did. I thought I did. He was kind. Until he wasn't anymore. But he changed so slowly from kind to cruel that I never realized. Then I was too old and he wanted me to help him find a new favorite. I said I would. And I poisoned him instead.”

 

Aderia gripped Ryca's arm tightly, shaking her for a moment before signing.  _You poisoned a teacher!?_

 

“I poisoned a rapist. He preyed on children.”

 

Medin spoke up then. “You got away with it? How?”

 

“I made it look like a perfectly normal illness.” Ryca shrugged like this wasn't a horrific admission of guilt. Domra understood her reasoning, of course, but something unsettled him about how cold she was about the fact.

 

“Like the smugglers?” Medin asked sharply, and Aderia's eyes got even impossibly wider. Domra's couldn't leave now. What smugglers? He had been a smuggler, once, for a gang out in the Crossroads.

 

Ryca sounded hesitant as she answered. “Yes. I kept us safe. I did what I had to. It doesn't matter now. Back to the point. If you asked me back then if I loved him, I would have said yes. But I was afraid, and I was lonely, and he said I was special. Kael needs to get out of there. No matter what he says.”

 

“Wait. Ryca.” Medin stared at her, stepping closer. “How did you get here?”

 

Ryca looked down at her feet in their heeled boots. “I came along as Queen Melara's cook.”

 

“My mother is dead, Ryca. She got sick, right, a perfectly normal illness?” Medin turned to Domra, who nodded slowly, realizing where he was going with this. Could Ryca really have acted so rashly?

 

Aderia shook her head firmly. _Medin, you don't mean-_

 

“Prince Medin, I-”

 

“You killed her.”

 

“I didn't, you must believe me!” Ryca yelled. But Medin drew his dagger. Domra stepped back fast, holding Camellia close to himself.

 

Aderia let out a wordless shout and shook her head quickly, waving her hands trying to get their attention.

 

Ryca raised her hands palms out and backed away. “Prince Medin. Please. I swear to you, I did not harm your mother. I would not be so foolish as to kill the Queen and provoke a war! I was only hoping to discourage h-”

 

Medin lashed out at her, and his eyes were like those of a man possessed. He swiped his dagger through the air, catching her dress and cutting through the fabric. “Don't ever let me see your face again or I will cut it open!” He screamed. “Witch! Murderer! Get out of my sight!”

 

Ryca turned and ran. Aderia staggered back and forth, torn between Medin and Ryca. In the end, she stayed. She grabbed Medin's wrist and wrenched the dagger from him before hitting him repeatedly on the arm while screaming at him wordlessly. Camellia woke and cried at the top of her lungs. Aderia snapped out of her rage and ran over, cooing and cuddling the toddler.

 

There was an explosion, and Domra fell to his knees when the ground shook. He ducked behind a building and peeked down toward the harbor, only to see the Solfruan ships sail into port. Another explosion, and a house near the port was blown into smithereens. Cannon fire. The cannon balls lit up the night, burning white in the night, and the wooden houses near the harbor were set ablaze.

 

Screams. Roars. The golden guards around the Spires stormed down the steps or into the castle, cutting down fleeing people as they went by. Medin turned his back and ran for the Spires, toward the golden soldiers.

 

Domra turned and fled the other way.

 

 

 


	35. Chapter 35. Aderia VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 35 contains:
> 
> Violence and war

**Chapter 35. Aderia VII**

**The Harbor, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Aderia wanted to get Medin to come to his senses. She wanted to chase down Ryca and tell her not to leave her again. She wanted to save Kael. But then Camellia screamed, and Domra looked so lost with a child in his arms, and all Aderia remembered was that little girl in the passageways under the Spires and the expression on her face, the feeling of pushing her blade between ribs through soft flesh. She ran to Domra, and then things became so loud. The harbor was on fire, and there was gold all around them. Gold and blood.

 

She took her spear back from Domra and nimbly dodged a Queensguard member when he came at them. She had sparred with these people. She had learned to fight from these people. So she knew how they fought. But she had also learned from drunken sailors in Sun City taverns, and from older, meaner kids in the orphanage. She rolled out of the way of his heavy blade and drove the spear right up under his helmet, right into his throat. When she felt the resistance of the inside of his skull she kicked him away before he fell on her. The spear snapped in her hands, half of it stuck in the guard.

 

She dragged him aside into an alley, and Domra followed, hushing the hysterical infant. Aderia quickly pulled the man's bloodied armor off, tugging on his helmet over her knitted hat and fluffy hair, putting on the chest plate and pauldrons. He had been a wide man, and they fit her pretty well. She grabbed his sword, his Sol shield, and his coin purse too, for good measure. She found a dagger and a smaller sword on his belt and handed them to Domra.

 

“You're incredible...” he gaped at her. She grinned and nodded, feeling a drop of blood, not her own, run down her face.

 

_To the tunnels. We'll take as many people as we can,_ she signed.

 

He nodded, and so they headed for the harbor, where the fighting was thicker as the soldiers that had waited on board the many Solfruan ships came onto shore. With the city gates closed, there was only two ways out of Exile. Through the tunnels and over the walls. With Queensguard men posted on the walls too,  that left only one way.

 

She signaled to Domra as she went along. He stayed out of sight as much as possible, and she avoided to instantly be targeted by the soldiers due to her armor theft. The next one she took out was a huge woman, as tall and wider than Domra. Domra donned her armor with some hesitation.

 

“I can't fight. Especially not with Camellia.” He carried the child against his chest, wrapped to his body, with the shield raised to keep her out of sight.

 

_Wearing that, you might not have to._

 

The dead littered the streets, houses were burning and the cobblestones were slick with blood in many places. Advancing on, Aderia thought she saw some movement dart deeper into a shady alley out of the corner of her eye. She signaled to Domra to halt and moved into the alley, deeper... and there, in the dark, cowered a group of barefoot children. They panicked when they saw her, praying and screaming and sobbing, and one of the smaller ones, an angry-looking freckled girl with pig tails and a cleft lip, started throwing pebbles at her. They bounced harmlessly off her helmet and she backed out.

 

_Children. They won't come with me. Talk to them,_ she signed, gently taking Camellia from him. Domra nodded and took off his helmet, barely fitting in the tight squeeze between stone buildings.

 

Aderia listened in as he explained it to them in Ishemish after dodging some pebbles. And finally, the children came along, five of them of different ages and appearances. It was many more people to care for... but Aderia couldn't stand to see them die here. They pressed on, with Aderia and Domra disguised as Solfruan knights – or, Domra disguised as one. For Aderia, it wasn't only a disguise.

 

She was suddenly immensely glad she had been taken in by Medin, not Melara. If she had been on the Queensguard she would have been under orders to slaughter these people. She steeled herself to the carnage. They couldn't take many more refugees if they wanted to make it alive out of the city, and each time she saw someone injured or in danger and couldn't rescue them, her heart broke a little more.

 

Soon they were right down in the harbor and about to make it through the warehouse and down to the tunnels, the children running alongside them, sometimes hiding, sometimes acting as 'prisoners' when other Queensguard members passed. The harbor was all in flames, the heat of wooden warehouses and ships and homes and inns burning was melting the snow on the ground and made the air thick with smoke. One of the Solfruan ships loosed another cannon and Aderia shoved the others to the ground, shielding them.

 

The cannon ball flew right over their heads and demolished a grain store behind them, which went up in roaring white flames. It was blinding and they hurried along. Screams of agony and terror rose up all around them, as Aderia threw the burning warehouse open and pulled the heavy hatch aside to reveal the entrance.

 

 _The ladder broke when we went through_ , she signed.

 

Domra took off his heavy armor, handed Camellia, silent with fear, to Aderia, and threw down his furs. His heavy fur coat, his scarves, his tunic, it all went down, along with several coils of fishing nets and curled up sails. Then he jumped down. Aderia held her breath, clutching the child tightly to her chest.

 

“I'm okay! The landing is soft enough. Come down one at a time!” Domra called up, and Aderia nodded at the children, sending them down one by one. The building was going up in flames around them. But each time one jumped, she had the next wait for a call of 'all clear' before going.

 

Finally, only she and Camellia remained. The child was whimpering again, and it was so bright and hot around them that Aderia could hardly blame her. The last kid that had jumped, the angry, freckled girl, called up in a strong, high voice. “Clear!”

 

Aderia held Camellia to her chest, and jumped. The warehouse collapsed in an explosion of fire and embers and falling lumber. Sparks chased her down the hole, and caught fire to the furs and nets at the bottom. She landed softly on her ass, and quickly handed the now crying Camellia to Domra.

 

She was all tangled up in the burning nets, and struggled to get out fast. She cut away at them, staggering forward down the hallway. Her helmet was so hot on her head she blistered when she tugged it off and threw it aside. Looking back from a safe distance, the smoldering pile of nets gave a fair amount of light, at least. Enough to show that the only entrance where they could be followed down was blocked. Aderia hoped Medin and Ryca were okay up there.

 

 


	36. Chapter 36. Ryca VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 36 contains:
> 
> Violence (face it that's pretty much gonna be a constant so...)

**Chapter 36. Ryca VII**

**The north gate, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Ryca was clutching at the cut in her side. It was shallow, luckily, barely a scrape of skin, but it bled and it hurt and she was scared more than injured. Everything had gone wrong. She had shared more than she had wanted to, and it didn't make Medin trust her more, it made him trust her less. Not that she could blame him. She knew what it must have sounded like. But she hadn't poisoned the Queen. It would have been foolish to try, with war hanging in the balance, and a crown princess more warlike than the previous Queen. And yet... the Queen still died. Perhaps there was some truth to the 'curse of Is', after all. It was a strangely comforting thought.

 

She had stolen a horse the moment the fighting broke out, and headed for the north gate. The underground passage out of the Spires exited in the northern part of Exile, and if Marett had any sense left, that was where he would go. The Spires would never withstand an attack, so fleeing was the only option. Ryca had a feeling she was right. She clutched at the wooden eye insignia around her throat.

 

“Please watch over Aderia.” She murmured. The north gates were closed. There was a line of carts and luggage and dead bodies by the gate. The Queensguard had struck here too. She saw them, up on the city wall of overgrown gray stone, standing by the wooden gates. She approached steadily on her stolen horse, tipping her hood back to show her face and short, wavy hair. She wished she had shaved her face, that her hair had grown as she liked it. She would hate to go to her death like this. But she held her head high.

 

“I am a sister of the Priesthood of <o>!” She called out in a loud, clear voice, speaking Solfruan, of course. She knew the Queensguard were sworn to Sol, and she knew the priesthood was regarded with much suspicion, even distaste in Solfru. But she knew they were also respected in many cases, or even feared. All she could to was believe. It was all she had left, here. “As such, I have no part in this conflict. I came here from Sun City to witness the wedding. I am no threat, or enemy. Allow me to pass, and you shall be blessed.”

 

She couldn't read their faces, due to their cursed gold helmets with mere slits for eyes. The knights remained on guard, with bloodied swords and stained armor. But they allowed her to approach. Her horse stepped gingerly over the dead, snorting anxiously. She stroked its neck gently, hushed it.

 

“Dismount!” A voice yelled. She reined her horse in and stepped down gracefully. The owner of the commanding voice, a tall man with startling green eyes, approached her.

 

She curtsied deeply. “Sir.”

 

“Stand and disrobe.”

 

She did. She shed her heavy coat with its many pockets and stood with her arms out. There were weapons trained on her. Swords. Spears. Archers up on the wall was aiming right at her. She didn't flinch.

 

“I am only armed with a small knife, my lord. For the preparation of herbs or the care of wounds.” Ryca said calmly. That was her only steel, the only thing this man would recognize as a weapon. He wouldn't look at the dried flowers in her pockets or her sly lips or her sharp mind and see weapons, only weaknesses.

 

Another knight picked up her robe and shook it out, while a third roughly groped at her over her billowing dress, fingers digging roughly into the cut in her side, making her clench her teeth. Her knife was inspected and returned, her necklace was inspected too. One flipped through her book of painted flowers. But eventually, the decision seemed to be that she was not lying.

 

“Have fun in the snow, witch.” The commanding knight's voice turned to a sneer. “The Door is five days away, on foot.” In other words, they were keeping the horse. She bowed her head.

 

Ryca smiled pleasantly, but her heart was ice. “Thank you, my lords, my ladies. I will keep you in my prayers.” She would pray for their swift demise.

 

The gates opened, and she walked out. Her heart stopped beating and she forgot how to breathe. She was out through the gates. The gates were closing again behind her – how would Kael get out now? - and she continued walking, hardly dressed for the weather at all. She started down the road.

 

She heard the twang of a crossbow only moments before she fell forward into the snow with an arrow buried in her thigh. Then laughter. Then the pain hit her like a great, sail-snapping wave.

 

 

 

 


	37. Chapter 37. Medin VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 37 contains:
> 
> War & stuff

**Chapter 37. Medin VII**

**The Spires, Exile, Ishem.**

 

It was a foolish thing to do, exactly the kind of brave, irresponsible, impulsive sort of thing Ryca had nagged him about ever since meeting him. And yet, when the fighting began, he thought of Kael. Ryca hadn't elaborated on the extent of his injuries after his attack, but Medin didn't need to know all that to know that he was chained to a chair-shaped chunk of rock, and that he stood no chance alone. He made a dash for the Spires. Aderia would follow, as she always did.

 

Except this time, she didn't, and Medin found himself armed with only a dagger in a throne room full dying or dead guards and what looked like a few Councilmen. He glanced out through the gates again, but he couldn't even spot Aderia anywhere. A sickening feeling of dread and loneliness settled into the pit of his stomach.

 

The skirmish had moved on deeper into the castle – he heard shouts and screams further down, but not here. All was quiet in the throne room save for the panicked chirps of a bird in a knocked over cage. Medin bent down and opened the cage door, letting the poor thing flit away. Perhaps it would live, perhaps it would die of cold and exposure... but better that somewhere else than in a cage on the bloodied floor.

 

He barely dared look at the throne, expecting to see Kael, chained and defenseless, bleeding out on the marble. But the throne was empty and his heart hopefully, awfully, skipped a beat. Kael had escaped, or been taken away. The chain attached to the back of the throne had been cut, but the three feet lengths of chain attached to each armrest were still intact, ending in a shackle as they should.

 

Doors lead out of the throne room on all sides, all gaping open. It sounded like the slaughter was continuing down any one of those hallways. Medin took a deep breath, trying to focus. Slowing his breathing like he'd seen Ryca help Kael do, when he became panicky.

 

He picked a door, and he went down the hall at the back of the room. That's where he'd flee, if someone came in through the front gates. If Kael fled, if he wasn't taken away... Medin listened carefully, sticking to the walls and peering around corners. He picked up a sword he felt comfortable using, and a shield that wasn't too heavy. He couldn't bring himself to undress a corpse, though, so he went on without armor. He noticed that none of the dead bore the gold armor of the Queensguard. All the slain were Ishemish, cut open on Ishemish steel blades wielded by his mother's army.

 

This was all his fault.

 

Angry tears stung in his eyes as he ran on. He heard someone shout at him to stop. He didn't stop to listen if they were speaking Solfruan or Ishemish. It didn't matter – even if one of the Queensguard recognized him for who he was, he was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be exiled. He wasn't meant to be here, and he didn't have time to get killed or captured now.

 

The hallway turned narrower with each turn. He threw open doors and passed through rooms until he reached the east Spire with its living quarters. There would be many more civilians here, but he saw fewer traces of the murderers going through it. Servants gasped and ducked into rooms when he came rushing past with his sword. He wasn't even sure where he was running to, but he knew he couldn't stop.

 

Two slender women in aprons stepped out into the hall before him. He called out a warning to them to get out of the way, to hide, but they turned to face him as one. They were identical, down to the upturned noses and curly dark hair. One of them carried a broom, he a sword. But he hesitated, and the handle of the broom was enough to knock him right off his feet. She'd struck him right in the stomach and he couldn't breathe. He writhed on the stone, coughing desperately for breath as his back felt like it was on fire. The other rushed up and grabbed his sword. He held his hands flat on the floor, palms up, to show he wasn't any threat. The woman, no, closer up he saw she was only a girl, with the broom had the handle of it pressed to his throat. He thought about the little girl in the tunnels. He wouldn't blame them if they killed him.

 

“I'm not with the soldiers!” Medin choked out. His stomach ached and he hoped nothing had ruptured, but he knew he would bruise at least. He looked at the stern, doll-like face of the first girl, glanced over at the other one, with arms so thin she had to hold the heavy sword with both hands and could still barely lifted it off the ground. They looked at each other, almost perfect reflections of one another.

 

“You're not from here.” The girl with the sword quipped. Medin let out a wheezing laugh through the gap in his teeth.

 

“You're right. I'm not. But I'm running for my life. And you should be running too.”

 

“They've already been through here, chasing the Prince. We hid.” The sword girl said, and the other one cleared her throat. The first one lowered her head and pursed her lips tight.

 

“Thank you, that's all I needed to know. Keep the sword if you want it. Mind if I keep running now?” Medin grinned in a way he hoped was disarming.

  
The girl moved her broom but kept it trained on him anyway. She had good instincts and sharp eyes. Medin climbed to his feet and bowed, clutching his stomach still. There was blood on the floor where he'd fallen, and he felt it on his back. Not much of it, but a scab must have cracked when he was shoved down.

 

“Good luck, my dears. Keep your eyes and ears open for soldiers, now.” He would miss the sword, but he could pick up another one. He turned his back on the two and kept going the way he was heading.

 

Behind him, someone let out a sharp whistle, like Aderia would when she wanted to draw attention to her signing hands. He turned his head on reflex. Pain exploded in the back of his head and he crumpled to the floor.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is rapidly falling apart.


	38. Chapter 38. Midsommar II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 38 contains:
> 
> Politics!  
> Mentions of sexual content

**Chapter 38. Midsommar II**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

The message telling her of her mother's death had reached Midsommar soon after the event itself – the pigeons flying with messages between the castles could move over the mountains of the Belt, and were faster than any ship having to round the coast. It was a relief and it was a loss, not unlike, she imagined, removing a body part which pained you. It was obvious it was gone, but it was a weight lifted, one pain less. Of course she grieved, as she had for her brother. It was an inevitable death, as sad as it was, but it came at the right time, in the right place. Midsommar had been preparing for this moment since she was only ten and her brother surrendered his title.

 

She had already dressed in griever's red for her brother, so she took off her shoes and she tore the pearls from her hair and let them fall at her feet when the message came. She screamed and raged and drew her blade, cutting off another foot length of rainbow braids from her head. She had been keeping court. She needed to act. She needed to display her rage and sorrow. At the sight of her reaction, the nobles and commoners in court screamed with her, tore their hair, their clothes. Many others had also worn red already, but everybody would grieve for her mother. For Queen Melara the Prosperous.

 

The bells rang. Canons along the outer castle walls fired. Sun City was screaming out its pain and rage. Then the chants began. Hoarse voices, joyous voices, enraptured, enraged. They were chanting her name. They were chanting for her.

 

Queen Midsommar would not let them down.

 

Carried by their chants and the growing pride she felt, she rose from the chair placed besides the golden throne. She took the Sol symbol from around her neck and fastened it in her hair, letting its sharp golden points rest against her forehead. She walked out of the throne room with her bare feet and out onto the balcony overlooking the upper levels of Sun City. The canons and bells were already attracting the people, and everyone gathered around her. The Queensguard her mother had left behind were near, too, but she signed for them to stand back.

 

“Solfru!” She called in her clear, strong voice. “You have lost a great regent today! My mother was a strong woman of great virtue, and she made our land strong! She ended a bloody war, and she won the alliance of many other lands. She was Queen Melara the Prosperous. And she was Queen Melara the Generous. She allowed the Ishemish to live on as they had. After their uprising, she allowed them freedom! And they have repaid her with murder!”

 

The body would be delivered here, and be examined, and it would be noted for the history books that the Queen had indeed been murdered. Midsommar knew this. So she was not afraid to say as much to these people now, and the roar of the crowd told her it had been the right thing to say. The Queensguard already had their instructions. They would carry them out on her signal.

 

“We have lost many things, Solfru! We have lost a Prince, a brother, a brave and gallant soul. We have lost a Queen, a mother, ruthless and wise. But we will not lose this war.”

 

The cheers followed her back into the castle and into her own chambers at the topmost floor – the Queen's chambers – and through them to the consort wing. Some of the men inside were weeping and had wrapped themselves in red. They would have to be retired, most of them. She would hold auditions for their replacements later on. The idea of finding pleasure in anyone her mother had also been with made her skin crawl. Some of these men were old enough to be her father. One of them, she would never know who, was. And another – or the same man – had fathered her brother.

 

She chose a young man, nearer to her own age. At least there was no risk of him being the father to anyone, and she took him aside, and they made love to the sound of the city grieving and calling for revenge. He was very gentle and sweet and too innocent. She was thinking about retiring him as well, but afterward he rubbed her back and his strong, caring hands just lulled her right to sleep.

 

She dreamed of the sea, of glory, of her foremothers and their ships. The sails that would frighten anyone into running for the hills. Midsommar could bring back that glory. She would be everything her mother had wanted in Medin, but didn't get. She would be everything the people wanted in a Queen.

 

Once she had woken, washed and dressed she called her advisers. She did not depend on a Council like the Winter Princes and Princesses did, but for all her studies and passion she didn't know everything there was to know about all subjects important to a Queen. Her advisers were primarily old women and men, dignitaries from the colonies rewarded with titles and lands in Solfru, rich merchants from old families of some importance to Solfruan history. The keeper of the vaults. A retired navy general whose fleets had won the throne new lands in faraway places.

 

“How fast will we win?” Midsommar began to ask. The representatives of merchants squirmed a little in their seats. Midsommar knew the merchants were not fond of war, as it made trade bad while it went on. But they would be oh so happy once the war was won, and they could establish production in old Ishem freely. The navy general was the one to respond as the Queen had expected her to.

 

“We will take Exile in a day or two, same with South Port. Eld in another two. We need more men to take the whole country. And with winter here...”

 

Midsommar nodded. It was a bad time to go to war with Ishem. The people of Is knew winters. They survived harsh weather. They had dense woods and high mountains, and they had steel. “For now, the ports and coastline will do. Block off the bay. We need to watch the Door as well, for any people attempting to flee that way. I want them to surrender, or die. Send all the ships, and all the soldiers we can spare.”

 

The council went on to other, less interesting questions. How they would keep the colonies with so many men sent to Ishem (by blood and steel), what to do about the rebellions in the south (quash them, of course), would there be a gala to the memory of Queen Melara (yes, as lavish and wasteful as you can make it), what of an heir (working on it right now, in fact, but the consort quarter needs new donors), how do we deal with the followers of <o> (as long as they do not speak against the throne, leave them be), et cetera, et cetera?

 

She still went to her afternoon history class, and though her teacher seemed surprised to see her, he sat down with the Queen to teach. They studied how recent events corresponded to past history. How the uprisings in the south could be traced back to a schism within the faith of Sol dividing the Crowns into two, and how it was influenced by the Sandpoint prison riots some decades ago. Riots raged again, now. Criminals were criminals, she supposed.

 

After class, she spoke to the high priest to arrange for a funeral, once the body of her mother came into Queensport. They would make it a memorial for Medin as well, whose body had not yet washed up, and was unlikely to. There were sharks in the waters off of Sun City, and carnivorous fish, and hungry seagulls. Yet, his soul would be laid to rest, and hopefully, his memory too. It hurt more to remember Medin than her mother, though perhaps the more recent loss had yet to sink in.

 

That night, Queen Midsommar slept in her own chambers one last time, while the servants cleared all personal belongings from her mother's room. In the morning, the new Queen would move to the top of the castle, right under the gilded dome, the sun of Sun City.

 

 

 


	39. Chapter 39. Kael VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 39 contains:
> 
> Marett

**Chapter 39. Kael VIII**

**The north gate, Exile, Ishem.**

 

Prince Kael was taken out of the city on a horse, seated before Marett on the saddle and with two other riders on either side, loyal guardsmen with better armor than the common guards. They had crossbows and swords, and Marett, of course, had his sword and shield, which he raised over his own and Kael's head as they approached the north gate.

 

A few quick bolts from the guards took out the sentries at the gate, and they rode through fast before the gate could close. Marett let out a victorious laugh as they thundered out through the gate, but something dark in the snow made Kael yell for them to stop.

 

“Stop! Stop, stop!” He cried, struggling in Marett's grip until he fell off the horse, rushing across the road. He was nearly overrun by one of the guard's horses, and it whinnied and reared up to avoid colliding with him. He heard Marett swear and bring his horse to a halt.

 

Kael's heart was beating fast as he trudged back through the snow. The figure was all dark against the white ground. He knelt next to her.

 

“Ryca.” He slurred, and his chains clattered when he leaned forward over her. She was laying face down, with the shaft of an arrow sticking up through her left leg.

 

She moved then, rolling gently over onto her side. “Kael! I was playing dead, I thought they'd shoot me again! Are you okay?!” She grasped at him. Kael nodded furiously, barely noticing how cold the snow was against his bare legs.

 

Marett and three of the guards caught up, the fourth left behind to hold the horses. Marett had his sword raised, and in a terrifying moment, Kael saw him raise it to strike Ryca down. He didn't have time to think before throwing himself over her, holding his breath as she did. It was all he could do, all he knew how to do. Sacrifice himself.

 

The sword halted before it pierced him, and Kael stared up at Marett's cold face with defiance. Ryca whimpered under him, and he felt her start breathing again. “No.” Kael said.

 

“No?” Marett was fuming. His knuckles whitened.

 

“No.” Kael repeated, his voice cracking, crumbling under the angry stare Marett gave him. His heart was racing out of control, his eyes watering, his blind one and his seeing one.

 

“This witch has tried to take you away. She has kidnapped you once and tried another time. Why should Is spare her life?”

 

Kael didn't know. He didn't have an answer to that. Yet, words left his lips, loose and slurred as he struggled to make his tongue move the way he wanted it to.

 

“She's a Seer, Marett. She has been exactly where she was meant to be. She knew the soldiers were coming. She was going to save me, as she did before, when I nearly died. She has saved my life over and over, and now she's here too. I saw Is stand over her body, and that's why I ran to her... Marett, she is meant to come with me.” As he said it, he realized it might have been true. Some of it was a lie, and he feared the wrath of Is, using his name in such a way... but nothing happened. He wasn't struck down. So perhaps he had come upon the truth, finally.

 

Behind him, he felt Ryca grip his shoulder and shake as though she was nodding. “Yes, my lord. That's exactly how it is. I may be sworn to the faith of <o>, but we recognize other gods... and when called to serve another god, we will serve.”

 

But Marett didn't seem convinced. He frowned down at them, not lowering his sword yet. “A disloyal witch. Kael. She may have ensnared your mind. You claim you saw Is, yet how can that be, if I am him? One of these things is a lie.”

 

Kael broke into tears and shook his head, feeling the crown's weight as he moved. “Is is powerful! He can be within you while speaking to me separately!”

 

Marett nodded to the guards and they moved in, grabbing each of Ryca's arms. Another grabbed Kael's arm and lifted him off of her, pulling him away. He screamed, because it was all he could think to do. He squirmed in the guard's grip, trying to kick him. He was lifted off the ground, battering the man's legs with his bare feet.

 

“Marett!” He shrieked as Marett raised his blade. Ryca's eyes were wide but her face still. It looked like she accepted her fate. But Kael couldn't accept it. “Marett! If you ever loved me! If you ever even cared about me, you wouldn't do this! Please! Don't hurt me like this!”

 

Marett paused and looked over at Kael. Kael knew he must look a mess. His face felt hot, there were tears and drool and snot... he sniffed, and felt a bubble form from his nose. He wanted to wipe it away, but his arm was held up high, and his toes barely touched the cold snow.

 

Marett lowered his sword, and put it away. Kael relaxed and sniffed again. He was dropped to his feet, but his legs wouldn't bear him. Kael crumpled to the ground with a panicked laugh. Marett was there, kneeling before him and hugging him tight to his body, stroking his back, his hair.

 

“Oh, prince... sweet, never think that I don't! I love you so much, that's why I can be cruel sometimes... I want what's best for you. But if this girl is so important to you... she'll stay alive. For now.”

 

Kael heard the threat, but still smiled. He refused to feel bad for manipulating Marett like that. He had it coming. Perhaps now he'd realize how it felt to have words like that thrown at him. “Okay. Thank you. I love you, Marett.” He whispered, sniffing once more for good measure.

  
When Marett pulled away, Kael leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

 

He couldn't meet Ryca's eyes, after that. She was tended to, the arrow removed and her leg bandaged above the knee, but she couldn't support her weight on her left leg, and had to ride in front of one of the guards as they kept following the road north, the sun setting to their left.

 

“Are you heading for the Door?” Ryca asked after a while. Kael noticed she hadn't yet had the time to shave. And now they likely wouldn't allow her a knife. She had her hands bound behind her back, and it was clear she was considered a hostage, not a traveling companion.

 

“None of your business.” Marett grunted.

 

“For Frost.” Kael replied. Marett poked him harshly in the back, but he didn't regret telling her.

 

“Frost?! What are you going to do in Frost?”

 

But Marett didn't say, and Kael felt so tired his words came out even more garbled than before. He fell asleep like that, leaning back on Marett with his scent in his nose. Sweat and sweet rum. He dreamed of ice. Of ice and crystal and the freedom of death, the freedom from loneliness. He was safe, wrapped up in ice, in a cloak of gray wool.

 

They were still riding when he woke up, and the sun was rising in the east. Marett had wrapped him up in his own cloak and an animal hide. Kael felt sluggish and cold, but his thumb had stopped aching since Marett had dislocated it and then pushed it back in position. He was hungry, too, but said nothing. He glanced over at Ryca, riding next to them before one of the guards. She was not sleeping, but watching Kael. He attempted to smile at her. She made a grimace that might have been meant as a smile, too.

 

He leaned his head back against Marett's chest, glancing up at his face. He was staring forward steadily, but it was too dark yet to make out his face very well. He probably looked tired. Kael was tired, even though he'd slept. Tired and cold, and he kept seeing things in the corner of his eye. He kept imagining that Marett was even colder behind him, even when he felt his heat.

 

“Are you awake?” Marett asked. Kael nodded against him.

 

“What are we doing in Frost?” Kael asked softly, hoping that maybe he'd get the answer Ryca couldn't draw from Marett's lips. It was silent around them. Snow crunched under the hooves of the gently swaying horse, the sun was only rising, he heard no birds or people. If he hadn't been so cold, this might have been nice.

 

“Ask Is. If this is fate, then he is leading the way.” Marett replied coldly. Perhaps he was still angry about Kael making him spare Ryca.

 

Kael felt smaller. Marett always made him feel small. Sometimes it was a wonderful, warm, safe kind of small. But more and more often, it wasn't. No, Kael couldn't remember properly. He felt like he was falling apart, like pieces of himself were taken away. But he couldn't remember what he had been in the beginning, what a whole self was supposed to be like.

 

“You're from Frost.” Kael started. “So you feel safer there. You told me you were very respected in Frost. Is that why?”

 

“So you do know how to pay attention to others sometimes. Good boy. But no, that is not the reason. If you'd stop thinking and start listening, you would know.” Marett snorted.

 

Kael felt warm and nauseated at the same time. It was a form of praise, so he'd take it. But it still made him feel sick, less, worse. He thought of Ryca's poisons. Of killing someone so slowly they didn't notice. That it felt natural, until one day there was nothing left of them.

 

Everything Marett said was poisoned.

 

Just then, his sensations split in two. He felt Marett's warmth behind him and he felt the cold too, like steel on bare skin, moving around him. It took his hand, and he felt the cold. He jerked his hand away quickly from the unseen force grabbing at him. He saw nothing there, but his reaction had attracted the attention of Ryca, who raised an eyebrow at him after angrily trying to ignore his and Marett's conversation. Kael could only just make it out, squinting at her. The sun was coming up behind her, shining through her shortened hair and enveloping her in a painful aura of light.

 

He closed his eyes and again he felt the cold, gentler this time. Distinctive fingers, brushing his palm. He took the hand in his own and held it. And then he could see. No, not see, his eyes were still closed. But he became aware of the figure, whitish blue and faceless and with five elongated fingers grasping Kael's hand. From the figure's head rose two hornlike spires.

 

Kael lulled forward in Marett's grip and pressed a kiss to the unseen figure's cold, smooth face, like kissing a lightly rounded piece of steel. The cold flowed into him past his lips and filled up his body until it was all he could feel, and then he didn't feel anything. He fell forward and hit his face against the hard neck and coarse mane of their horse, which snorted at the sudden but light impact.

 

Marett jerked him back with a strong arm around his chest, shaking him slightly. “Kael! Are you okay?”

 

Kael tipped his head back and opened his eyes. Half of Marett's face was concealed by the spot of bright light that was his right field of vision. Kael didn't feel cold anymore, just at ease. He smiled gently, feeling but not minding the tear escaping the corner of his blinded eye.

 

“Yes, Marett. Thank you for taking me to Frost to fulfill my destiny.”

 

He knew what Marett intended to do. He knew what Is wanted. He knew it would stop the war. He could feel it all unfold like memories of something that hadn't yet happened. And he was ready for it all. _Laela... Marett, you were all wrong._

 

Marett leaned down to kiss him gently on the forehead, but only kissed the steel of his crown instead. It was already protecting him perfectly well, if years and years too late.

 

He turned his head to look at Ryca, caught her watching with disgust. So he smiled at her, too. “Ryca, I'm sorry for all of this. But it will be over soon, I promise.”

 

She did not seemed soothed by his words at all.

 

 

 

 


	40. Chapter 40. Lorai II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 40 contains:
> 
> Much needed fluff

**Chapter 40. Lorai II**

**Skymning, Solfru.**

 

He had vanished. The simultaneous relief and loneliness was overwhelming, and Lorai could barely drag herself from the mattress laid on the driftwood floor of the loft she shared with Tam. She was alone in bed, alone in her head, alone in the little shack. Outside, she could hear the barks of their three dogs, as well as cheerful child voices. Ros had a sharp, sudden _yaff_ , Dis had a deeper _boof_ , and Lass' bark was as stubborn and consistent as a woodpecker, drilling away at the inside of her skull. The human voices belonged to Tam's brother's daughter and the village blacksmith's son. She didn't hear Tam, but if it was late enough that the sun streamed in, her wife had likely headed out to sea already.

 

Lorai sat up slowly. The top of her head nearly hit the slanted ceiling. Sunlight flooded in between salt bleached planks dressed with grass. She brushed out her hair and got dressed. Winter was coming to Solfru too, yet she was warm and comfortable in only a thin gown and worn, soft boots. He wasn't downstairs either (though why would he be? He had never been far away from her before), and she sent out mental feelers as she cooked her breakfast tea.

 

She couldn't sense anything. It was as if Is was gone from her mind. As though the god who had been with her since the Door when she had been near freezing to death had never been with her at all. She felt no touch, she felt no presence, she heard no whispers.

 

The tea had gotten hot, been poured into a cup, and then gone cold again before she decided just how to feel about it. She drank the cold tea rather than waste it, and she decided it was a relief. She hadn't been alone for so long, and she had always been told things she did not want to know. She had been forced to stay updated on what was happening in Ishem, on what would happen soon. It was exhausting and she knew it had taxed Tam's patience, too.

 

Lorai used her new sense of clarity and mental presence to go out into her studio, passing the children playing tag as the dogs jumped around and gave chase on her way to the smaller shack set up for her art and paints. She had woven reeds into canvases, and she painted sea shells, etching and dyeing patterns into their mother of pearl insides. She had small crates of rocks and minerals to be crushed for dye, she had dried flowers, dried berries and fruit. She started working on one of the canvases – those, she never sold, but she made for friends and family to take home and decorate their homes or boats with them. Sometimes she had requests for painting something directly onto a boat or dye patterns and scenes into fabric for clothing. Or for Laela. She could copy the paintings she had seen as a child from memory. The face, the curve of the lip, the braids and gentle blue eyes. Over and over again she had painted her, until the features haunted her mind like a ghost.

 

But this would be a painting not for anyone else, but for herself.

 

She was still working at it when Tam's brother Jorel called the children home to eat, still working when the light that filtered in through the door was red, when the dogs came into the shack to lay at her feet, crowding the floor and making her have to step gently over them when she needed more yellow, grabbing a bit of ochre clay and crushing it, mixing it, going back to paint. Her hands were stained with paints, as was her dress (it was her painting dress, so she didn't mind). She painted with boar hair brushes sometimes, and her fingers sometimes, as she felt the image needed.

 

Once she felt satisfied enough with the image, she took a step back to look at the woven canvas, stepping into a warm, firm body. She smelled salt and fish, and she leaned back when Tam wrapped her arms around her waist from behind. The room was dark, the sun had set and Lorai had barely noticed.

 

“Is that...?”

 

Lorai grinned. “Spring.”

 

“I... see.” She heard Tam sound confused for a moment. “And that's... who's that there?” She pointed to a brown silhouette against the explosion of warm colors.

 

“You.” Lorai pointed to the other figure, less human looking, the only cold color, a light blue blob with a core of yellow. “Me.”

 

“It's...”

 

“Strange, I know. I tried to paint feelings.” Lorai explained. Normally, she painted animals or patterns, portraits, landscapes.

 

“It's beautiful.” Tam smiled. Lorai nodded. It was. And she was glad Tam saw that it was. “But... can I change something?”

 

Lorai was worried for a moment, but... this was meant to portray feelings, and feelings shifted, and she trusted Tam with her painting. So she nodded and stepped aside, minding her feet so she didn't step on Ros' fluffy red tail.

 

Tam stepped forward, dabbed her fingers in the red ochre, smeared it on her thin lips, and pressed a dyed kiss to the ball of ice blue. She pulled away with a grin, and Lorai giggled. Then Lorai shrieked when Tam grabbed at her to kiss her and smear the paint on her too. Lorai ran, and Tam ran after, and then came the dogs, barking excitedly.

 

They rolled around together on the ground for a bit, while Tam pressed kiss after kiss to Lorai's face, leaving great red marks until the red mud dried on her lips and each kiss just became scratchy instead of wet. Lorai was exhausted from laughing, panting to catch her breath as she laid back in the damp grass and stared up at the darkening sky, seeing the stars up above. There was a chill in the air and the fine white hairs on her body stood up, her nipples hardening under the thin dress. Tam wiped her lips and then curled up in the crook of Lorai's arm, resting against her.

 

“Are you cold?” She asked teasingly, moving her hand up to touch the hard points poking up. Lorai giggled breathlessly and gently slapped at her hand.

 

“What do you think?” Lorai retorted.

 

“I think you're underdressed for winter.”

 

“It was warm when I woke up! And... winter is gone.” Lorai exhaled slowly, watching the puff of white smoke that was her breath rise up into the sky and fading.

 

“It's not quite spring yet. We haven't even had any snow yet. Wait.. you're cold?” Tam sat up, staring down at her.

 

“Yes. I'm cold. Winter is gone. He's... not here, anymore.”

 

It looked like Tam wasn't sure how to feel about it. Lorai had expected a cheer, a hug... not silence and a tightly pursed expression.

 

“Are you sure?” Tam asked. She stared into Lorai's eyes like she would when Lorai said something particularly strange or unexpected. This was quite unexpected.

 

“He has left.” Lorai replied. “Maybe he went to Kael instead.”

 

Tam put on that annoying pitying, awkward face again, and the gentle, nearly fearful tone of voice that always went with it. She couldn't understand these things the way Lorai could. She didn't see things the way Lorai did, the way she had. “Darling, you know... he was never really here, right?”

 

Lorai was tired of it. But she knew Tam meant well. That she thought this was some fragility of Lorai's mind... one of many. Tam meant well, and didn't always understand her. But that was okay, really. If it made Tam feel better about things, imagining that Is was not real, then Lorai could allow it.

 

“It doesn't matter anymore. He's not here now.”

 

“But what if _he_ ,” Tam said the word like some horrible illness, like the disease plaguing her wife's mind, like a demon she didn't want to summon by speaking too loudly, “comes back?”

 

Lorai took Tam's hand and set her face in a fake stern expression. “I'll tell him to leave.”

 

Tam looked surprised, but then burst into laughter. “Good. I'm glad.”

 

They laid back down together, the dogs crowding them for warmth. Lorai supposed they should go inside soon. She could see the mosquitoes swarming, and she didn't want to be eaten alive. And her returned ability to feel cold was actually starting to make her shiver.

 

“Let's go inside.” Lorai said. “And warm up.”

 

Tam came along with her quite happily.

 

 

 

 


	41. Chapter 41. Aderia VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 41 contains:
> 
> At least one goat

**Chapter 41. Aderia VIII**

**The Crossroads, Ishem.**

 

The journey through the tunnels had been unpleasant. Aderia had brought no food with her at all, and what little Domra had brought was meant for a shorter journey, feeding himself and a baby, not an additional five children plus a former royal knight. They arrived in the Crossroads four days after escaping Exile's burning harbor, hungry and cranky and exhausted, but alive.

 

Luckily Lille, the oldest of the children, a boy of thirteen with thick curly blonde hair and a round face, had squirreled away quite a lot of food in the many pockets of his apron. Nine year old Rob, the second tallest of the five, had his backpack full of stolen apples. He was dark of skin and darker of mood, but the quietest one was Ash, twelve years old and with the face and build of a particularly sour bull. She didn't do or say much, beyond guarding pretty Heo, a thin pale child with their shirt constantly slipping off one shoulder. Heo was not from Exile, Aderia learned, but had escaped a Tuéshi merchant ship a year ago and had lived on the streets since then, cared for in secret by the other children. The undeniable leader of the group was also the youngest, Rob's little sister Mika, the dark girl with pigtails and a split lip. She was only seven, but certainly the loudest and most opinionated.

 

“Will there be food in the... Roads?” Mika asked, as they were approaching the staircase up to the shack on the outskirts of the snowy village. Aderia could only hope the exit wasn't blocked from this side, after the tunnel had been discovered.

 

_Yes_ , Aderia signed with aching hands.  _I'm sure._

 

“Yes.” Domra translated. Aderia had tried to teach the children some sign language, with Lille, Ash and Heo more interested in it than the others had been. But there hadn't been enough time to teach them all of it, and they were all tired and hungry. Camellia was finally sleeping through the nights, but when she wasn't crying, Lille or Rob was. Their parents were still in Exile, likely still stuck within the city walls, if they were still alive at all. But neither Aderia nor Domra thought that was an appropriate thing to tell the children before they had at least gotten them to safety.

 

The Crossroads were as Aderia remembered them. Cold, snowy, dark. But she found Exor's house empty and his dogs there, still alive and seemingly well fed. There were meat bones on the floor, gnawed clean and pink. She hoarded all the children into the house and went in search for food – there two sacks of potatoes in the pantry, and she found hard rye bread, dried salted meat, a slightly moldy cheese and some very rotten turnips.

 

She prepared what she deemed reasonably safe to eat, boiling potatoes on the wood stove and then heading back out, to see if she could find milk for Camellia. She had abandoned her stolen suit of armor in the tunnels, deciding that it might not be a popular sight. But they knew nothing of how the fighting had gone in Exile. Perhaps it had already been won. Perhaps the Solfruan knights had already advanced past this point... but Aderia assumed there would have been more carnage, if that was the case.

 

She went up to the inn, seeing the light of lanterns and fireplaces inside through the gaps around the heavy oak door. She pushed it open and walked inside. There were many people gathered inside, the small place was positively crowded. But she was relieved to see not a single piece of gold armor, just people huddling together in relative silence, or get piss drunk in a more loud manner. She drew many eyes when she entered, but no one seemed to recognize her, and she recognized no one either. A relief, since she was partially responsible for the death and disappearance of several of the village's residents. She went up to the man behind the bar counter. 

 

“A traveler? Escaped from Exile?” He asked. She supposed there were others who had made it out of the city, and this was the nearest town. Yet it seemed risky to stay so close, in case the Solfruans advanced.

 

She nodded in response.

 

“We have no more rooms, but I've got a few people staying in the stables, another few in the barn of the old farmhouse. You need a place to stay?”

 

Aderia shook her head. She signed  _milk_ , but the man looked confused. So she tried to mimic it, instead. Showing a cow, a goat, the act of milking. Then, rocking a baby, nursing one. The man looked grumpily confused for a moment, before nodding, and speaking to someone seated at the bar. 

 

“Got any more milk in that poor goat of yours, old man?”

 

A redheaded man who didn't actually look all that old took another gulp of steaming hot tea before grunting. “Sure. Why?”

 

“This lady's run dry. She's from Exile, got a babe somewhere. Where's your kid, ma'am?”

 

Aderia waved vaguely to the door before puffing up, showing herself taller, broader, and with a beard. She might as well run with their assumptions, because trying to explain the exact truth would be time consuming and utterly pointless.

 

“I'll go get Molly for you... take her along. Fresh milk's best, and the poor goat's hurt her leg when wolves took her baby. She'd just be meat if you didn't take her.”

  
Aderia's eyes watered – from relief, and from sympathy with Molly the goat. She threw kisses and bowed gratefully to the man, before trying to sign 'money', acting like she was rubbing two coins against each other with a quizzical expression on her face.

 

The 'old man' grunted and waved her question away, leaving his tea to head out. She waited eagerly, and within the hour, he was back carrying a fat goat with a crooked leg, handing the braying goat over to Aderia, who hugged the animal to her chest. It was quite heavy, but if they could get a new horse and cart, they could bring it along easily.

 

She thanked the man again before heading back out with her new goat, and Domra just stared at her when she entered the smuggler's house with it.

 

“You are incredible.” He sighed.

 

Aderia grinned, and Ash and Heo scrambled to gather furs to give the goat a soft place to lay. Exor's dogs sniffed it curiously once she had sat the goat down, but Aderia watched them carefully to make sure no one nibbled at it. Domra tried milking the goat, and once a spurt of milk escaped its teats, he laid Camellia down at its udder. Luckily the goat seemed quite docile, unlike the large Karusi rams Aderia had ridden on Dim.

 

When dawn came around they left the Crossroads, having eaten, rested and recovered a little from their arduous trip through the smuggling tunnels. Playing the role of the impoverished family – which at this point was true enough – Domra managed to get them all room in a wagon headed north.

 

_Not south?_ Aderia signed.  _To your family?_

 

_I hope they have gone north too._ Domra replied with his beautiful, strong hands. Camellia slept at his chest, resting in the sling he wore under his thick fur coat. Aderia hoped he was right.

 

The family they were riding with had two horses and only one child, with another one on the way. The mother was very beautiful in a simple sort of way, with long braided brown hair and a strong nose. The father was rather more homely and very quiet, but Aderia could tell he was good with both the horses and the children, which made him a good man in her book. Their daughter was a bright child, and seemed delighted to have travel companions. Mika had taken a particular shine to little Lettie and was teaching her all kinds of rhyming games involving singing and clapping hands.

 

As cramped as the back of the wagon became with an additional five children, two adults, a baby and a goat, the journey to the Door was still fun enough. Aderia had insisted on bringing along the two big dogs from Exor's house, and they crowded in with the children in the back of the wagon, or ran alongside them as they drove north.

 

Aderia had packed all the food she had found in the house, along with textiles like blankets and rugs, so they at least contributed some to the very hospitable family that had taken them in. The mother, Melia, was so heavy with child she was already producing milk, and she volunteered to help keep Camellia fed, and Domra told her and her husband, Kain, about how he came to care for Camellia, about the fighting in Exile, about finding the other children and getting them out of the city. He tactfully said nothing about where Aderia was from, and they didn't ask. She didn't have an accent to give her away as Solfruan, so all was well.

 

“And what happens next?” Melia asked as they stopped to rest the horses. Wolves were howling and the night was dark, but the snow and the half moon gave them some light to see by.

 

Domra gave Aderia a questioning look. She shrugged. She hadn't thought that far. She hadn't thought at all. Escaping Exile had been an accident. She knew she couldn't let more kids die, not if she had a chance to save them. And now, here she was. Her heart ached, wondering how Ryca was doing, how Medin was doing. She was sworn to keep him safe. And Ryca was her sister. And they might both be dead. But at the same time, she couldn't regret her choice.

 

“We haven't planned that far ahead. Go over to Solfru, maybe.”

 

_The Door is a scary place. Especially for kids._ Aderia signed. Remembering the birds, the centipedes, Lorai's friends who had died in the cold and the dark. 

 

“War is a scary place for everyone. I don't think they'll stop once they've taken Exile. They'll keep heading north.” Domra replied. Aderia appreciated that he said 'they', and hoped that he truly didn't think of the Queensguard knights as in any way related to her, even though she had been one of them.

 

Aderia hushed him, glancing at the children, well within earshot in the cramped wagon. Mika was watching them with a strangely cold gaze, and Lille looked scared. The others were busy playing clapping games with Lettie, or petting the dogs and the goat.

 

“I disagree,” Kain said, smoking his tobacco pipe. The sight only made Aderia's heart ache more. “They'll meet resistance outside Exile. On Eld, in Frost. South Harbor's full of swords. Ishem won't be lost.”

 

“We're waiting it out in Frost.” Melia added with an inviting smile. “You could stay there. It's a good place to raise children.”

 

Maybe they could do that. Aderia glanced out over their random pack of kids. They had to do something with them. And she didn't like the idea of orphanages. And on the off chance their families were still alive, they needed to make sure the kids could find their parents again.

 

“Thank you.” Domra said. “We will... consider it.” He looked at Aderia, his cheeks turning red. She waved at him, as Lettie climbed onto her lap and stared at her with wide, gray eyes.

 

“What's your goat named?” She asked in a high voice.

 

Aderia took her hand and drew the letters in her palm. M O L L Y.

 

“Molly!” Lettie exclaimed and jumped back down, running up to hug the crippled goat. The goat bleated in response.

 

Aderia grinned. She supposed she could do much worse for herself than this.

 

 

 

 


	42. Chapter 42. Ryca VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 42 contains:
> 
> Marett  
> Some gory details

**Chapter 42. Ryca VIII**

**The Silent Forest, Ishem.**

 

As they traveled north the trees grew denser around them until they were riding through a thick, silent forest. The branches of the massive evergreens were so wide and bushy that the forest floor was mostly free from snow, but also from any kind of vegetation. It was all dirt and browned pine needles. While the ground was brown everything else was green. The trunks of the massively thick and tall pines were overgrown with frosted green moss as high up as Ryca could see. The soft ground dampened the sound of the horses' hooves, more so than even the snow had. The air itself smelled stale and still.

 

This place was older than Dim, yet it held no trace of human hands to give its age meaning. The thought was dizzying. They passed a tree as large around as the bélandre she had traveled to Sun City in so many weeks ago. It must have stood here since before the ocean queen landed on the eastern shore and laid the foundation for Solfru. Maybe even since before the island of Eld rose from the waters in the west. The hairs on Ryca's body stood up as a shudder ran up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, squirming on the saddle until the rust-armored guard behind her grunted at her to stay still. She hadn't seen anyone. There were only the trees, silent and still.

 

“Doesn't anyone live here?” Kael asked, his voice soft and yet breaking the dead silence in a way that felt sacrilegious. He had been quiet most of the journey. They all had, though in the beginning, Ryca had tried to fish for information. Where they were going, what they were doing there. But the throbbing in her leg had gotten worse, and she had a hard enough time focusing on keeping the pain under control. The wound wasn't healing as well as it should, and she was glad they were here, in the cold north, rather than anywhere warm and humid or it may have gone to rot.

 

“Some do, but not for long. You can feel it. This place is too old for humans.” Marett whispered to Kael, just loudly enough for his voice to travel to Ryca's tired ears where she rocked back and forth on the weary horse carrying both her and one of the guards.

 

“Do you think there are,” Kael lowered his voice, taking a cue from Marett to whisper, “fairies here?”

 

“Like in the stories?” Marett put on a strange, startlingly shrill voice and exaggerated manners. “'Oh, brave prince, won't you save our fairy kingdom?!', like that?”

 

Kael quoted back in a slightly deeper tone – and with a smirk just like Medin's - “I remember that! 'Fear not! I will vanquish this evil foe!'”

 

Marett burst into soft laughter, the guard behind Ryca squirmed and stifled a snort of laughter. Kael beamed and joined in laughing. Ryca couldn't believe what she was hearing. The pain in her inflamed leg and her disgust combined, becoming a new and intense kind of agony and settling into the pit of her stomach, blinding her.

 

She threw herself to the side and vomited over the side of the horse. Her eyes swam with tears and the guard behind her gave a shout as he grabbed her before she fell. “Hey! What's that about?!”

 

Ryca spat out a mouthful of bile. “Set me down. My leg might be infected. I need to look at it.”

 

“High Councilor?” The guard asked.

 

“We'll stop.” Kael said firmly.

 

Marett grunted in frustration. But he waved his hand. “Let's rest. We are near enough to Frost. We will reach it tomorrow. But every delay costs lives, my sweet.”

 

-

 

Kael slept in a tent meant for him and Marett, with one of the guards inside it in Marett's place while the High Councilor guarded Ryca, one man cared for the horses and the other had made a fire and was cooking over it.

 

Privacy was not an option as she was a prisoner. Her hands had been untied but Marett had a steady hand on his blade as his cold brown eyes dug into her. His face was scarred here and there, she noted. She had never paid such close attention to him before, and she'd be glad to never have to again.

 

Ryca was pretending her flesh was not her own but his as she rolled up her skirts and examined the hole through her leg. The arrow had been snapped and pulled through but it may have left splinters or other debris in her flesh. It had gone straight through her thigh muscle from back to front and the flesh was swollen and red. She took a deep breath before bringing the mug of steaming hot, boiled rum up and pouring it right over her injured flesh. The fire took her instantly. She was blinded for a moment, and when she came back to herself she was breathing raggedly and sweat was streaming down her face. She felt it burn through her leg, the uninjured skin reddened. It steamed, but cooled fast in the winter cold. She held her breath this time, and poured some more of it over her burning flesh.

 

Her hands were shaking and her heart racing in the aftershocks of the pain. She bound her wound up gently. At least she hadn't screamed. She had some of her dignity intact.

 

“That was impressive,” Marett said. “Were you ever a soldier?”

 

Ryca squirmed internally. She could think of very few things she wanted to do less than impress this man.

 

“No.” She sat up straighter. She should eat, especially after emptying her stomach like that. She felt the cold fog creep into her mind, making her sluggish. She wanted to sleep, but wouldn't dare close her eyes here, with this man, or anyone like him. “Pain resistance is a skill useful to many others, too.”

 

“You are quite a mysterious one, aren't you.” He snorted. His hard Ishemish consonants made her skin crawl just as much as him leaning in did. “What _do_ you want with my... with Kael?”

 

“Only what's best for him.” She scoffed. She wished he would go away. She was considering just killing him and being done with it. But Kael would hate her. Though perhaps that would be worth it, to free the world from the likes of Marett.

 

“So we're not so different.” He smiled, pouring himself a cup of rum too. “Care for a drink?”

 

She wrinkled her nose as her stomach turned again at the very thought of accepting anything he offered, of being anything like him. “What are you trying to do? Why are you acting this way? Why do you do such terrible things to Kael?” She was trying to hard not to let her voice rise, respecting that Kael was asleep, and not wanting to upset him by the conversation.

 

Marett leaned back against a moss covered tree trunk. “One question at a time, witch. I am trying to get to know Kael's friends. If you're as important as he says,” his tone suggested that he doubted that, “you're useful. The only terrible thing I have done to that boy is let him out of my sight. I have done nothing that's not for his sake. He loves me.”

 

“That makes it worse, not better!” Ryca snapped, trying to stand, but the shooting pain in her leg made her knees go soft and she sank back down onto the ground with a grumble. The guard poking the fire with a stick was staying tactfully silent, not looking at or talking to them. The soft snoring in the tent paused. Ryca relaxed again when Kael resumed snoring, and she noted that Marett did too. The observation did not make her happy.

 

“His whole life, he has been unloved, surrounded by people who would use and hurt him,” Marett said, and Ryca tended to agree until he went on, “but I'm not like that. I'm helping him fulfill his potential. Under my care, he's flowered. He was always beautiful... but now he's almost perfect.”

 

“I could kill you.” Ryca bit back coldly. Her fingers itched for her dagger, for some nightshade berries to shove down his throat. The guard looked up alertly at that, making it clear that he was listening, but pretending not to.

 

“So why don't you? End my life here and now.” Marett smirked, having another swig of golden rum. He spread his arms, then, exposing his chest.

 

He meant to antagonize her, Ryca was sure, but she just turned her head away. “I don't have that right.”

 

Marett snorted. “You're smart. Only the gods have the right to dictate the lives and loves of people. Life is easier when you accept that, and are grateful for the role you're dealt. For me and Kael, that is serving Is in our different ways. I as His vessel, Kael as His summer, His Laela. You may dislike it, but it doesn't change what it is. If it wasn't meant to be this way, then why do I feel the way I do?”

 

“Even if I was to accept that you were chosen to love him,” Ryca felt nauseous just using the word  _love_ for whatever twisted thing it was that Marett imagined that he felt. “why would you show it the way you do? You're ruining him. He'll never be free of what you've done.”

 

“None of us are free. Weren't you listening?! Our wishes are irrelevant! He will be wed to Is for eternity. To me! But I am never anything but gentle. He won't suffer more than necessary.”

 

“Necessary!” Ryca stood, ignoring the pain. She couldn't remain still, silent, in the face of... of this! She spat in anger with every word, wringing her hands together painfully. She imagined she was wringing Marett's neck. “Who decides that it was necessary for him to be broken like this? To be _raped-_ ” Ryca's hands flew to her mouth when she realized she had been yelling.

 

Kael was standing in the opening of the tent, his heavy crown in his hand. The swelling had gone down but his hair hadn't grown back in so fast, and the scar on the side of his head, the soft spot in his skull, was visible. He approached slowly, barefoot despite the cold and wearing only a white under-gown. He looked like a ghost. Some drowned child, with his sleek hair and puffy, bruised eyes. His left eye was still dark with clotted blood. Its constantly dilated pupil couldn't focus on anything.

 

“I'm sorry, Kael,” she hurried to say, limping up to him. The guards tensed – the guard in the tent awake and peeking out through the opening. “I didn't mean to yell. Please, go back to sleep.”

 

He hugged her tight to himself with his thin arm. She felt the points of the steel crown digging into her back. Kael was so cold to the touch, yet he wasn't shivering. She leaned down and hugged him back loosely.

 

“I'm not broken.” He breathed in her ear. “You don't need to protect me now.”

 

But she did need to.

 

“Don't believe anything he tells you.” She whispered back, not even bothering to keep her voice low enough that Marett wouldn't hear. “He doesn't love you. He hurts you. He-”

 

Kael pulled out of the hug and pressed a fingertip to her lips, slipping the crown onto his arm to hold onto it. She wasn't sure if he was finally losing his senses entirely. He looked lucid, but the slight peaceful smile on his face, when he had no reason to be calm or peaceful, made Ryca suspect that maybe he was still being drugged.

 

“It's more complicated than that, sister. Thank you for worrying. Sleep with me tonight?” He took her hand. She wrapped her fingers around his and nodded.

 

“My prince! That's not-” Marett tried to intervene, sounding drunker by the minute.

 

“Marett. Please. If we arrive tomorrow, it will be my last night with her. I will have an eternity with you. With Is. Give me a few hours with a friend?” Kael sounded so gentle. His voice still slurred a little – he couldn't help it, with the damage done to his head. But his normally flickering gaze was more steady.

 

Kael wrapped his other cold hand around Ryca's fingers as she looked over at Marett, seeing him fume and try to figure out some retort, some ridiculous, jealous reason why Kael absolutely could not share a tent with her. Wait, other hand?

 

She looked down at their entangled hands in disbelief. A pair olive-skinned hands with long fingers, and a slender pale hand with visible blue veins and chewed down fingernails. And still she felt it. A third hand, cold, around her wrist. And then a fourth hand on her shoulder. The world spun. She groaned, feeling faint. So she went into the tent with Kael, ignoring the guard, and they laid down close together.

 

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, but Kael said nothing. So she changed the subject. “What are we doing in Frost? What did you mean, last night? Kael, what is he planning?”

 

“A permanent wedding. Stopping the war.”

 

“You mean...?” She couldn't believe it. Well. She could believe it. She could believe that Kael would act like this, like there was only one way to do things. Like he didn't deserve to live. “You don't have to. Kael!”

 

“Then who will?” He asked, and Ryca had no good answer. “Is told me exactly what I needed to do. I'm not afraid anymore. I'll fix all of this. So you'll be okay. No more ghosts now.”

 

Kael's body was cold, and no matter for how long they laid pressed to each other, he didn't warm up. His fingers were brushing her shortened hair. She fell asleep wondering how anything alive could be so cold to the touch.

 

 

 


	43. Chapter 43. Medin VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 43 contains:
> 
> Mysteries

**Chapter 43. Medin VIII**

**South Harbor, Ishem**

 

“Why are you looking for the prince?” The girl who had knocked him out with her broom asked him, as she removed the woven bag from over his head. It had smelled earthy, perhaps it had held potatoes before it had been re-purposed. He rolled her eyes at her and she snorted, reaching around his head to untie the gag as well.

 

Medin worked his aching jaw. His mouth was dry. The fabric that had been shoved into it to keep him from shouting had done a splendid job absorbing not only sounds, but moisture as well. 

“I'm parched.” He croaked, nodding toward the steaming teapot of whatever that his captors had cooked up. The wagon creaked and rocked, but the pot was secured to the iron stove and barely budged. Medin did, though, falling forward. He would have fallen on his face. His head was still spinning, his legs were numb from kneeling since he woke up, and his hands were tied behind him. The girl caught him before he collided with her skinny chest and sat him back upright.

 

The girl waved her hand to someone else behind him. He heard the sound of steps approaching and tensed up. His head still throbbed from the blow that had knocked him out. “N-no need to add to the lumps on my head!”

 

But the person continued past him even as he flinched. A tall, strong man with the same dark, wavy hair and long face as the twins unlatched the pot from the stove and filled a cup. When the man knelt on the floor before him, Medin searched his face for sympathy. He found plenty of it. The man had a short, fluffy-looking beard and large brown eyes. He looked vaguely familiar – beyond his similarity to the twins.

 

“What's your name?” He asked as the stranger blew on the dark brown liquid in the cup. It smelled warm and strong and bitter, like some brew Ryca might have come up with. He pursed his lips tightly, suddenly changing his mind about being thirsty.

 

“Imri. What's yours?” The man surprised him by answering. Yet he just shook his head, not answering. Not opening his mouth so that whatever poison his captors had made couldn't slip past them.

 

Imri sighed. “That's Ife,” he gestured to the girl in front of him, “and Thie, my little sisters.” He pointed over Medin's shoulder, and Medin turned his aching head. The opened wounds on his back screamed in protest as he turned, pulling and stretching on the healing skin. The other girl waved at him from a nest of cushions near the window.

 

“Let me guess. Twins?” Medin asked, forgetting himself. But no cup was shoved to his lips, no steaming hot, lethal liquid poured past his lips. Imri simply held the cup out for him. An offer, not a command. Medin nodded, and Imri helped him drink. It tasted bitter and dark but it invigorated him quickly, filling his blood with heat and easing his headache. His tongue felt strange and fuzzy after drinking, and he wished he had some water to wash out the taste with.

 

“Yes. My own twin sister is driving the cart. Her name is Neta.” Imri smiled gently. His lips looked soft, and had Medin been in another situation he might have been inclined to try that theory. “And now you've been given four names. Can we have yours?”

 

“It's Medin,” he answered. Though he was confused as to why they had even bothered to capture him, if they didn't know who he was. “The former prince of Solfru... but I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this attack.”

 

“Causing it is hardly nothing,” Ife spat. Medin cringed. “If you hadn't...!”

 

“Sister...” Imri started, holding his hand out to soothe her. It didn't work.

 

“Go help Neta,” Ife said. Imri bowed his head and ducked out through the curtain. As the fabric parted, Medin saw light. It was day, then. Once Imri had departed, Thie joined her twin in front of him. They were both small and lithely built, but there was something about their eyes that Medin found intimidating. Perhaps he simply remembered how much that broom handle had hurt.

 

“So...” He chuckled nervously, straightening up. He wished his hands weren't tied. “How can I help you beautiful ladies?”

 

“Tell us about Kael. Why are you looking for him?” Ife asked.

 

“Why did you kidnap him?” Thie added. “Where is he now?”

 

“One at a time, please.” Medin sighed. But instead of better paced conversation, he got a knife to the throat. The steel pressed into his skin and he felt his bowels nearly give out from the fear.

 

“Okay! Okay, okay. I'm looking for Kael because I need to fix things! My mom tricked me, and I messed everything up, but I'm trying to fix things now so please! Please... I don't know where he is!” He didn't know. “You said he ran past you! That's all I know, I haven't seen him for weeks!”

 

Even if he had any idea where Kael might have gone, he wouldn't tell these two. He remembered what Domra had said. There were those who preferred the old ways, who wanted to see blood instead of empty symbolic gestures.

 

The knife was pulled from his throat and sheathed, and Medin shook. He felt nauseous.

 

The twins nodded to one another. “You're coming with us.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because your fate is not up to us.” Thie said. “And because you know him better than us.”

 

Medin was so utterly confused. “I don't understand. Who are you? Why are _you_ looking for him?”

 

“He's as blind as he's stupid,” bit Ife. Thie giggled. Medin's blood burned. He felt terrified, rather than angry. But the girls wouldn't elaborate beyond that. He decided to change the subject.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“In a wagon.”

 

“Fine. But where are we going?”

 

“We just left the Crossroads. We're headed to North Harbor.”

 

“Why North Harbor?”

 

“Because we're going back to Eld,” one of them spat, and the other muttered something. They didn't seem happy about their destination. Considering how volatile the volcano was, he wasn't surprised by that. He felt a strong tremor, more than just the uneven road shaking their wagon.

 

“Do you think Kael is on Eld?”

 

“No. But Exile burned to the ground. He's not in the city anymore.”

 

“Did anyone get out of the city alive?” Medin's heart sank. Aderia had still been in the city. Where could she have gone?

 

“We did.” Ife sighed. “Now shush, unless you lied before about not knowing anything.” She held up the gag again.

 

Medin opened his mouth to accept it, rather than provoke the girl into more knife waving. He wished she could have at least given him a clean one. The cold, spit-soaked rag made his jaws ache once more. The potato sack went back over his head and the two girls guided him into lying down on the floor. He was at least grateful for the chance to stretch out his numb legs, but as the blood flooded back in them the pain made his eyes tear up.

 

He tried to sleep to the rocking of the wagon, but the terrifying irony of his situation kept him awake. He worried about Aderia. He worried about Kael. He worried about himself, too, but he probably deserved this. Was this Sol's punishment, or the curse of Is?

 

_This is no fault of mine_ , a voice whispered in his ear. Medin shuddered as the chill took him, but it left as fast as it had come. 

 

 

 


	44. Chapter 44. Neta I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 44 contains:
> 
> More confusion

**Chapter 44. Neta I**

**Eld, Ishem.**

 

News of the invasion had spread fast, but ships were still traveling between Eld and the mainland, carrying steel and weapons and armor. The smoke from Eld was now rivaled by the smoke in the south, carried on the ocean wind from Exile.

 

“What point is there in going back?” Thie asked, cradling a cup of coffee in her slender dark hands. “Kael's not gonna be there. The High Councilor would have taken him somewhere safe.”

 

“Yes,” replied Neta with a tired sigh, glancing back to the slightly wiggling potato sack her brother Imri carried over his shoulder, and at Ife who was poking it now and then. “Which is why there's no point in looking for him. We lost our chance. He's gone. We might as well be of use here. And tell her to stop doing that!”

 

Ife looked up quickly and pulled her hand away from their precious cargo with a pout. “What? I'm not _hurting_ him.”

 

Imri cleared his throat and looked awkward, weighing from foot to foot. He could never say no to his little sisters. But when Neta gave him a stern look, he straightened his back. “Listen to your big sister.”

 

Ife huffed and stomped over to Thie, pulling her aside and whispering angrily in her ear. Neta could make out some words, but not understand them. Those two had their own, made up language, and Neta allowed them to keep it for themselves. There were so precious few things that they owned.

 

The largest harbor on Eld was the one connected to the smelting buildings. It had near fifty quays for large ships, and twenty-and-some for smaller boats. It was all ash-gray wood and rust-red metal. The air was thick with smoke and ash, and it smelled of iron and salt. Activity was frantic as their ship landed in the dock for smaller boats, and the family huddled together as they got ready to disembark.

 

Neta clutched their papers in one hand and brushed her coarse, unruly hair behind her ear with the other. “Make sure he's still and quiet,” she whispered to Imri.

 

“You heard,” Imri hissed. The wiggling sack on his shoulder stilled.

 

Passengers shuffled across the gangway slowly. On the shore stood two armed inspectors, dressed in blue and gold. They were hired by the island's owners though most of them were Ishemish. They were paid well and given power and in return, they gave up any loyalty to Ishem.

 

“Master Kean. Mistress Trisa. Good to see you again,” Neta smiled and handed over their papers. “Good to be home.”

 

The two inspectors looked their papers over and then looked up at the siblings. They looked as tired as Neta felt, and she allowed her stiff smile to fade a little. “What with this disturbance, I'm sure you're very busy.”

 

“Disturbance is a very diplomatic way of putting it, Neta,” Trisa rolled her eyes. “I'm glad you made it out in time.”

 

Neta bowed her head. “Thank Is. His blessing was with us. Even the Prince made it out, they say.”

 

“Perhaps it had been better if he had not. I cannot speak ill of the Queen, but this little skirmish is better solved fast. If the God had reason to interfere, then perhaps-”

 

But before Kean could speak treason against his Solfruan owners, a snort came from the sack on Imri's back. Neta's smile stiffened, when the inspectors' hands flew to their weapons. “What is in that bag, Imri?” Trisa asked.

 

“Ah, it's, ah-” Imri stuttered, and Neta knew he would ruin everything. She got ready to run and hide.

 

“A pig,” Thie piped up, stepping forward. “We bought a pig in South Harbor.”

 

“We're having a barbecue,” Ife joined. “Please don't bother it. Pig tastes terrible when it's stressed before slaughter.”

 

“Mother always told us to put the pig in a dark, calm place and not kill it until right before you're going to eat it,” Imri agreed with a nervous tone.

 

The bag kept snorting and snuffling, wiggling a little. Neta put her hand on it and stroked the struggling body inside. “You're welcome to join us tonight. We mean to share it with the slope. Those off duty, of course.” She grinned.

 

“Really?” Trisa screwed up her broad face into a look of intense concentration. “I've never heard of that.”

 

“Lin was a very smart lady,” Kean ensured his partner. “Resourceful. She got herself off of that slope.” He nodded seriously.

 

Neta smiled until her face hurt. “So please, come on by when you get off duty. Bring your children.”

 

“Oh, no. We can't be fraternizing with the laborers, now... you know that. Off you go. Enjoy that pig of yours. Is knows you deserve it.” Trisa waved them along as Kean gave their papers back to Neta.

 

They left the harbor with casual steps, but once they were hidden beyond the first warehouse, the twins began laughing. “A pig! Good one, Thie!”

 

“Would you like shuffling around in the mud?” Ife grinned, poking the sack. Neta grabbed her wrist.

 

“Stop that. This is no laughing matter. And there is no need for cruelty.”

 

They didn't go to their old home on the southern beach of the island, far enough away from the volcano and the factories that the air was slightly cleaner and the sky sometimes showed through the smoke. Though it now belonged to Imri and Neta, there wasn't anything there for them. Instead, they turned north, through the smelting houses and smithies, toward the volcano. The ground rumbled frequently here. The haphazard mud and wood shacks shook and trembled as the mountain spewed dark smoke.

 

Rickety wooden staircases allowed them to climb the steep hill, often taking them over the roofs of shacks. The laborers homes were stacked one on another, climbing up the volcano slope. Some were dug into the rock itself to make more space for more homes, or to get closer to the heat contained within the mountain. A roof was often someone else's front garden. Eld had once had very fertile soil, before most of it was dug up to make room for the mines and to let out the molten rock. What little dirt hadn't simply been tossed in the ocean had either been carried south to form the rolling hills and gardens of the safe district, or up the slopes. Here it was used to grow food to supplement what little food could be purchased down in the docks with the meager pays the laborers received.

 

“What are we doing here?” Ife complained. They were nearly at the top of the volcano. Near their old home. Neta remembered it well. She knew it was still empty. Imri had been to visit it only a week earlier, to make sure.

 

“Yes, what is the point? The slopers aren't going to listen to us,” Thie joined in, and Neta cringed at the offensive word.

 

If not for their mother's sacrifice, her difficult decision, the family wouldn't have left the slopes themselves. They would still live here, poisoned by the thick smoke, slaving away until they all fell ill and died. The safe district wasn't paradise, but in comparison it was quite comfortable. Though a large portion of that comfort may have been due to the money they had gotten in compensation. It couldn't have been an easy choice. But Neta understood, even if Thie and Ife didn't. It had saved the rest of them.

 

They made it to the shack. Neta ducked inside. It was an empty shell. Everything they hadn't taken along with them when they moved had been scavenged by their neighbors, she was certain. She took a seat on the dirt floor, tracing the soft dust. The shack only had two rooms. The entrance room, only just large enough that an adult could lay down on the floor and stretch out, and the back room, dug into the mountainside and hotter than a summer day. Her parents had slept out here, and all five children had slept in the back.

 

There were little scratches in the walls where she and Imri had chiseled at the planks with sharp rocks, drawing stick figures of the whole family. Their mother and father had smiled at the drawing, letting it remain on the wall. Each addition to the family had been scratched in with the rest. The fifth figure, the middle child, had been scratched out. Neta still remembered her mother taking her knife to the wall, nine years ago.

 

Ife and Thie entered. As one they marched over, crouched down, and crossed out the first two figures as well. Neta looked away with tears burning in her eyes. Her little sisters had never understood their parents like Neta did. But instead of yelling at the twins, she helped Imri pull Medin out of the sack. He looked disgruntled and ruffled as they untied his hands and removed the gag in his mouth.

 

“Sorry to treat you so roughly, Your Highness,” Imri said. “But we're safe now. No one here will tell on us.”

 

The people of the slopes stuck together... which was why this plan might just work. And this was the perfect time for it. With the land already in shambles, they could use the chaos like a smokescreen and break free.

 

“Water?” Medin rasped. He didn't scream or cry for help, though he glanced at the twins fearfully. Neta didn't blame him, either. She reached into her pack and handed him her water skin. He emptied it quickly and gave it back. She would have to refill it at the well. Slope water was clean enough, but it tasted like sulfur and she wasn't looking forward to having to drink it again.

 

“So. You got me. Now what do you want with me?” Medin asked as they all sat down on the floor in a circle.

 

“We want you to find Kael,” Ife and Thie said at once. But Neta sighed.

 

“That was why they grabbed you. And now that we have you... you might as well help us with something else.” Neta knew there was no finding Kael now. That there were far more important things they could do... but her little sisters never considered the greater good.

 

“And how may I be of service?” Medin bowed where he sat, and if not for how ruffled and miserable he looked, his grin may have been charming.

 

“You need to convince your sister to call off the attack," Neta said.

 

Medin burst into laughter. “My sister! Midsommar! She's never listened to a word I said, and she's not going to start now. She's got her crown and her throne and her army. I'm just an exiled traitor.”

 

“You're her _brother_ ,” Imri insisted. “She'll listen to her family.”

 

“Yeah, no. I wish it worked that way. She listened to our mother, but...” He choked and stopped talking, covering his face with his hands.

 

The twins scoffed, but Neta put a hand on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry about your mother.”

 

Medin pulled his hands away and glared. Tears were making tracks down his dirty face. “Sorry? I doubt it. Why would you be sorry about the Queen?”

 

“I didn't say I was sorry about the Queen. I'm glad the Queen is dead. But I am sorry you lost your mother.”

 

“I'm starting to think I never had a mother. Only ever a Queen.” Medin stood, hugging himself. “Am I still your captive? I'm of no use to you. I have no money, no power. I can't do a thing right. So let me grieve alone.”

 

“Be careful,” Neta said. “Some may find a Solfruan on the slopes a bit strange. And avoid anyone who might recognize you. Know that there's no getting off the island. Not until we take it back.”

 

Medin walked out. Imri made a move to stop him, but Neta shook her head.

 

“Don't let him go! We caught him, we can exchange him, or, or make a statement, send a signal to the stuck up bastards that-”

 

Neta interrupted Ife's rage by putting a hand on her slender arm. “No. We will kill no innocents. And he will return. I'm sure of it.”

 

Ife huffed and pulled her arm away, grabbing her twin sister's hand and walking off, out of the shack.

 

“Don't get in trouble!” Imri called after them. The two stuck up a hand each, throwing rude symbols over their shoulders.

 

Neta sighed deeply and leaned on her brother, holding him close. “This is a mess.”

 

He stroked her back. “We will succeed. We have to.”

 

She nodded. They had to. The mountain shook behind them. Dust fell from the ceiling. They didn't have much time.

 

 

 


	45. Chapter 45. Midsommar III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 45 contains:
> 
> Intrigue~

**Chapter 45.** **Midsommar III**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

Midsommar was sitting out on the Queen's balcony, just under the great golden dome, eating breakfast in the morning sun. The ocean winds were kept away with tinted glass screens, inlaid with gold and bright colors. Her mousy handmaiden cut her another slice of nut-and-fruit bread and drizzled honey over it. She ate leisurely, knowing that once she stepped out of her chambers, all her duties awaited. But yet she remained in the peaceful asylum of her mother's old quarters, watching the world go by so far below.

 

“Were we not sent any meat cuts today?” Midsommar asked, glancing at the layered side table with bread, fruit, cakes, teas and sweet, spiced wine. Almost everything a Queen needed to break her fast... but no cheeses, no meats, no butter or cream for their tea. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and leaned over, uncovering a tray. It held sliced melon, not sliced ham or white mold cheese.

 

“No, my lady,” her handmaiden stuttered, her face red. “There are none remaining in the cold stores.”

 

“Your Queen,” Midsommar corrected. “No meat? How did that happen? Why wasn't I informed?”

 

“No meat... or cheese, or milk.” The girl stared at her trembling hands, folded in her lap.

 

The Queen could forgive the lack of meat. Animals weren't slaughtered or hunted in Solfru. Such barbaric practices only occurred in other countries – or on the open sea, right before a ship made for port. Midsommar had a taste for meat, like many others who could afford it. But the keeping of animals wasn't forbidden by law, so there should be milk and cheese and cream.

 

“Why is there no cheese?” Midsommar asked sharply before topping up her tea with a bit of wine.

 

“I don't know, my la-” The handmaiden flinched. “My Queen. I can attempt to find out if it please you?”

 

She stared at the frightened-looking girl, trying to remind herself that her handmaiden was older than herself. It was hard to believe when the girl was so shy. She had been Midsommar's for almost half a year, yet she hadn't learned her name still. Something with 'M', more likely than not, like half the noble girls in the Queendom. May or Millie, or...

 

“What did you say your name was again?” She asked, tired of being polite.

 

“S-Silvi Nattsol, my Queen. I'm from Sandpoint.” The girl looked crestfallen, her eyes downcast.

 

“Silvi. Have some wine and a bit of cake. I have no further need of you today. Take the day off.” She reached across the table and grasped the girl's shaking hands for a moment, trying to ensure her that the dismissal wasn't a punishment. She'd just rather not see her trembling. Today was promising to be a tiresome enough day as it was.

 

“But-”

 

“I can dress myself. Thank you.” Midsommar left the table, brushing the crumbs off of her nightgown. She went up the stairs outside the balcony door, up into her bedchambers right under the dome. Red dress, red shoes, red gloves, red headscarf. She was still in mourning, and today the body of her mother was supposed to be returned to the capital and interred as it should be. She had a long day before her, and already it had started off poorly, with no cheese or meat for breakfast.

 

As she had expected, she only had time to go down the stairs and open the well-guarded entrance to her quarters before she was assaulted by reality. Outside stood old Captain Pering, along with two robed representatives of the Priesthood of <o>. There was also a skinny girl with a freckled nose carrying a rolled-up message. From her filthy shoes, her shortness of breath and the feathers in her hair, Midsommar could only assume she had come straight from the rookery.

 

“Whose matter is the most pressing?” Midsommar asked, looking at the line of people.

  
As expected, Captain Pering opened his mouth to speak up first, but the girl stepped forward brashly and pressed the scroll into her hands. Midsommar unrolled the scroll and read it. The girl curtsied and ran off again.

 

Midsommar smiled in satisfaction. Finally, some good news. Exile had fallen, only ruins remained. Her soldiers moved on South Harbor, by land and by ship. Soon, she'd have meat and cheese once more.

 

“Anyone willing to follow such bright news? Captain?” She grinned, turning to the mustachioed old man.

 

“The prison in Sandpoint has fallen, Your Majesty. The riots have become a revolution. What are we to do?” He bowed as he addressed her, mumbling at the floor.

 

“Beat them down.” Midsommar said firmly.

 

“All our ships and men are in Ishem,” Captain Pering protested. Midsommar scoffed.

 

“Then go by land. Cut them off. Burn Sandpoint to the ground, if they do not stand down.”

 

“As you wish, my Queen.” He stood again, glancing suspiciously at the Priest and Priestess. He stood back, but he didn't leave.

  
“Ah. You have brought my mother back home. I thank you deeply. What are your names, so that you may be properly celebrated?” Midsommar asked, folding her hands before her skirts. The body had been sent to Dim to be examined before burial. Midsommar didn't have to wonder what they might have found.

 

“I am Alyn and this is Flore, Your Majesty,” the Priest said, pulling his hood back. His eyes were scarred and focused on a point just above her head. He was blind, then. The Priestess had a hand on his arm, perhaps leading him where he needed to go. “We have disturbing news.”

 

“Tell me.” Midsommar arranged her face carefully. She was grave with just enough confusion. The mask slipped on seamlessly. Her mother would have been jealous.

 

“Your mother was murdered,” the Priestess said. The Priest looked disgruntled that she had beaten him to the punchline. His pout was so pronounced it took all of Midsommar's concentration not to crack up.

 

“Poisoned,” the Priest stressed.

 

Midsommar clutched her chest and widened her eyes. “But who would do such a thing?!”

 

“A Queen has many enemies, your Highness.” The Priestess said. “But rest assure we are investigating the matter. As such... her body cannot yet be interred. We have had it placed in your cold stores for now, and I trust you will aid us in all you can.”

 

“Yes. Of course,” the Queen assured her, clenching her fists. At least there was no food in the cold stores at present, to be contaminated by the corpse... but her stomach still turned at the thought of it.

 

“Such as quarters. For five of our Priesthood, and the two of us.” The Priest held up seven fingers in a needless display, as though she could not add two and five in her head.

 

“Certainly. Though I wasn't aware those of your... faith... were encouraged to get involved in such matters?”

 

“No one else knows poisons or the body's functions as we do, your Highness. We observe... but no matter what conclusions we make, we are not in the position to act. Merely see... and tell,” the Priest mused with a lofty tone.

 

“Would you not have better luck looking in Ishem? After all, that was where the act took place.” Midsommar argued, feeling uneasy.

 

“Perhaps the murderer is now in Ishem. But there is no doubt that the substance used had been supplied to her for a season, at least. I would take care, my Queen. The murderer may be in the castle still.” The Priestess glanced warily at old Pering, who glared back. Midsommar was reminded how little he liked those of the Priesthood.

 

At that moment the door behind her opened a sliver, as Silvi peeked her head out. “Oh! Forgive me, my Queen! I thought you had already gone... I thought, since you dismissed me for today...” She blushed.

 

Midsommar stepped aside to let her come out. Silvi was dressed in a much simpler outfit than her usual court gowns. She was always immaculately dressed, though never prettier than the Queen, of course. But now she wore rough riding pants and a jacket, and had her long hair braided back and tucked into a hat. She blushed and curtsied stiffly at the people at the door before rushing off.

 

“How long has that girl been in your service, my Queen?” Captain Pering muttered as he glanced over his shoulder just as the awkward girl disappeared around a corner.

 

Midsommar clenched her fists tighter and stood up taller. “For a season.”

 

 

 

 

 


	46. Chapter 46. Marett IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 46 contains:
> 
> Reread the warnings and tags again, please. To avoid spoilers that is all I can say. 
> 
> Also, Marett, obviously.

**Chapter 46. Marett IX**

**Frost, Ishem.**

 

Coming home was strange. Marett had been in Exile for three years, yet it felt like a lifetime, almost. Yet there was no time to or meaning in visiting the army village or training grounds on the south shore of the massive lake. The group bypassed the wood-and-straw houses of the town of Frost, and headed straight across the Frozen Lake. They left their horses behind and bound dull blades of steel to the bottom of their shoes instead.

 

The Frozen Lake was larger than Tooth Bay, and stretched from the edge of the silent forest to the northernmost mountains of the jaw. Its surface was hard and translucent, where the snow on top of it had been blown away by the wind. The ice was thick, but it didn't reach all the way to the bottom of the lake. Far down in the blue, they could see the shadows of fish, great big beasts which would never see the surface, and smaller fish that could be pulled up by anyone with a long enough drill.

 

Their goal was clearly visible across the smooth surface of the ice. Two towering spires, separated by a gently curved dome. Marett had been here many times, when he trained in the army, and when he studied to become a guardian of Is. He hadn't been on skates for three years, yet he remembered it well. His guards were equally steady on their feet – as almost all Spire guards, they too had trained up here in the north. Kael and his witch were having a much harder time of it. Kael wobbled and looked as though he'd snap his ankles, and leaned heavily on Ryca. She was wobbling just as bad.

 

Marett turned and skated back to them, offering Kael his arm. His prince had a thick scarf wrapped around his head, around the steel crown protecting his tender brain. Yet he didn't seem to mind the cold anymore. Marett was proud, but the pride faltered when Kael hesitated to accept his help.

 

“Come now, sweet. Long, steady glides. Just so. Hold on to me.”

 

Kael finally relented and put his arm around Marett's waist, and Marett put his arm around Kael's shoulders, where Ryca was already offering him support. The witch let go of Kael so fast Marett might have thought she had burned herself. She staggered and slipped and nearly fell on her bony ass, glaring daggers at Marett.

 

“Keep up or be left behind.” Marett smiled at her.

 

She muttered something and moved closer again, putting her arm around Kael's waist. Marett snorted at her stubbornness. He had no interest in touching her, and if she hadn't been so pathetic, he might have been insulted that she would even think that he might. He was married, after all.

 

They skated along together, awkward at first and not helped by how Ryca seemed to want to fight him with every movement, every step. But as the morning turned to afternoon and they were nearly to their destination, Kael broke the reverent silence.

 

“For how long has this lake been frozen?” His voice sounded much steadier now, and the previously lame side of his face twitched as he spoke. He was recovering... but too late. Ah, how ironic that the flesh heals when it is no longer needed.

 

“Over a millennium. When the Frost Temple was built, this was no lake, much less a frozen one. It was simply a pit, with a great rock in the center, and where the rock had stood they built a great temple, the first statue of Is known to us,” Marett explained, and he noted that even the witch was hanging onto his words with interest. He wondered if having a hypnotic voice was part of his impending godhood. “Then it rained for a long time, and the pit filled. The village inside it moved to its edges instead. The pit filled until it overflowed and made a river to the ocean, and in came the fish. Then, the long winters begun. Is must have been displeased to see his temple submerged. So another statue was made, another temple.”

 

“The Spires.” Ryca said, then quickly covered her mouth when she realized she had spoken.

 

Marett smirked at her. “That's right. Clever girl. But Is remained unhappy. The ground shook, and Eld spewed flames and smoke, and ice fell from the skies. A wise woman made it into the old Frost Temple... and found the insides full of white flowers, their centers red.”

 

He felt Kael tremble and look away from him. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cold cheek. “People then believed it meant that Is desired blood. So that was what they gave him. The winters grew shorter for some time.”

 

“But then a sacrifice survived,” Kael said with a trembling voice. “And returned in spring.”

 

“With tales of a wedding, and a loving god who cried for the end of blood sacrifice. That's right. Laela. She was the first winter child.” Marett remembered seeing so many old drawings of her, made hundreds of years after her death. She had been so beautiful, he had thought. He had been so in love with her, even then.

 

“That's not true,” Ryca protested sharply. “There are records of other people being born with no color in many other places. They say that the first king to ever unite the islands of Tué was as white as the sands, though his tribe was dark as the ocean queen!”

 

Marett sighed tiredly. “I did not mean that she was the first of her appearance. I mean she was the first of her appearance to be given to Is. And she pleased him.”

 

Ryca scoffed but didn't keep questioning him. Kael said nothing. He looked distant again, staring at the towering horns of Is growing ever larger as they neared the giant statue. Marett pinched his shoulder to draw his attention. He turned to look up at Marett slowly.

 

“Is something the matter?”

 

“I'm speaking to him now. He says... he says it's time. And I am to go in ahead... if that's okay.”

 

Marett felt uneasy about that. “I still do not understand how you are talking to me without my knowledge. But if that is what you are being told...”

 

“It's not like that,” Kael said quickly, a blush rising to his cheeks. He gripped Marett's waist tighter. “It's like... he's a part of you that's not fully awake yet. But it will wake. You will wake... but I need more time. So I need to go first.”

 

Marett nodded slowly. Kael was hiding something again, and he didn't like it. He looked over at Ryca, and her eyes were narrowed too. Yet he didn't push the matter now. No need to fight before their big moment.

 

The head of Is towered over them, each horn as tall as the Spires of Exile, if they still stood intact. Marett ordered the guards to wait outside of the holy temple while the ritual took place. They could enter only in a few hours. So they settled down to wait, building a fire on the ice some feet away from the face of the temple.

 

Marett took off his skates and assisted Kael in doing the same. Ryca untied her own, stubbornly refusing to even look at him. She would regret that, once he was truly a god. But for now, he allowed Ryca her misguided attitude.

 

“I shall wait an hour, my sweet, then follow you. As frightening as this might be, we will be together again soon. Do not fear the pain of death. It is brief and fleeting. And afterwards, you will be perfect. My Laela.” He cupped Kael's face in his hands and pressed their lips together for a long moment. He lingered on the sensation, on the memories of flesh. There was no telling what range of sensations may be allowed to a God.

 

“This isn't right.” Ryca exclaimed loudly near them. Marett ignored her, and Kael's attempts to pull away to soothe his witch friend, holding him close until he was satisfied.

 

He broke the kiss, letting go of Kael. He caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes before Kael looked down at the ground. How sweet of him, to not want Marett to see his distress. “It won't be long.”

 

He grabbed his armasi bronze dagger and pressed it into Kael's trembling hand before giving him a gentle nudge toward the one entrance to the temple, the eyes of Is.

 

Kael glanced at Ryca for a moment and gave her a fleeting smile, before sliding and stumbling toward the left eye and crawling in through it. His feet had barely vanished into the head of the god before Ryca broke away from Marett.

 

“Kael! Kael, wait, don't!” She screamed, climbing through the eye much more nimbly than Kael had.

 

Marett watched in horror and confusion as the stone eyelids of Is closed, trapping Marett outside, with his prince and that treacherous witch inside.

 

He ran to the face and pounded on the stone, beat his fists bloody. But nothing budged. He pressed his ear to the rock, but heard only silence. With a heavy heart and a spinning head, Marett sank to the ground. He could only wait.

 

-

 

It did not take long, but it was an agonizing wait. There was a loud rumbling and the earth shook, and the eyelids opened. Marett quickly scrambled through and into a great empty chamber. A spiraling staircase lead down into the god's mouth, and onward down the neck and into the chest, where the Bergenias yet, to his knowledge, flowered without sun or warmth, the stomach, and lower still to where the old entrance used to lie before being submerged.

 

It was in the chest that he found them. Ryca stood stiff and immobile until he stepped onto the stone floor. She flinched and looked up, wordlessly cradling his dagger – clean and bloodless. She let out a strangled sob.

 

Beyond her, in the garden of flowers, sat Kael. He shimmered so in the dim light filtering in from above. He must have already become immortal. Marett approached in awe, sinking to his knees before his love. He was beautiful, just like the pictures of Laela. He still wore the crown Marett had made for him, and his hair was half shaved, the left side of his face was slack and his right arm was a stump. He was naked, as though all other clothing had disintegrated by whatever magic had made him immortal. He bore each scar and mark on his body still.

 

Marett touched his ice blue hand. It was hard as crystal, unyielding. Kael's eyes were closed. He did not breathe. “Sweet?” He choked out. “My prince?”

 

He touched the stump, felt the jagged uneven surface. Just as his skin had been, but not skin any longer. A single piece of crystal, as solid and pure as the statue of Is in the Spires. As imperfect and broken as Kael had been. As beautiful and as ugly.

 

“Poor Kael,” he whispered. “If only you could have become whole again. I thought you would have.” He was no Laela. There were traces of her. In his eyes, his hair, his lips. But he wasn't her. Just a mutilated boy. But that was merely physical. His soul... her soul. That was a different matter. And he would meet her soon.

 

Wordlessly, Ryca handed him the bronze dagger. There were tears on her cheeks, but her face was as cold and unyielding as Kael's.

 

Marett rose to his feet and pressed a kiss to the crystal lips. His head was empty of all fear and grief, and he pressed the blade to his throat. The temple shook. He cut deep, feeding the flowers with his blood.

 

He heard someone screaming his name before everything went dark. _I am coming, Laela. There is no need for you to be afraid now._

 

 

 


	47. Chapter 47. Aderia IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 47 contains:
> 
> Fire and blood

**Chapter 47. Aderia IX**

**Frozen Lake, Ishem.**

 

_She heard the flames though she could not see them. The heat radiated through the door connecting her cozy little bedroom to Prince Medin's chambers. She could smell the smoke that seeped in through the gap above the door, and she pounded harder on the decorated wood. Yet all her strength was gone, and she could barely hear her own weak knocks over the crackling of the fire. She tried to scream and her voice came out as a croak. She knew the flames must have reached Medin's bed when she heard the screams. She beat the door with all she had but it wouldn't break. Another scream joined Medin, and she knew it was Ryca. Aderia couldn't breathe. The smoke was suffocating her and she sunk to her knees, croaking and coughing._

 

_The door creaked open on its own, but the flames had run their course. The once magnificent room was blackened, only a pile of ash where the bed had once been, charred bones right before her door. The skull was remarkably intact._ You failed me,  _it said with Ryca's voice._ You could have saved me but you never did.

 

You are weak,  _Medin yelled at her from all around. His ashes were everywhere, shimmering like gold. Aderia wanted to sign at him, to let him know she hadn't left him on purpose. But her hands turned to dust, to ashes, and crumbled to the floor. She could only scream_ and Domra shook her awake.

 

She sat up and looked around, her breathing ragged and hands shaking as she signed frantically into the darkness. Domra hushed her and she hugged him and Camellia, who was beginning to stir too from her sudden yelling. Little Mika climbed the bed and stared at her firmly, and soon the smugglers' two shaggy dogs had joined her too, making the already small cot even more cramped.

 

“Don't be scared, 'Deria.” Mika said. “I'll beat the nightmares away.” She gently prodded Aderia in the head with her wooden sword. She had nagged Domra to make her one too after seeing some village children play with them. It had taken all day, but Aderia and Domra had helped out and soon all seven refugee children had swords of their own. That included Camellia. Aderia had made her a small one, for when she was old enough to walk and hold it. _I'll train them_ , she had decided.

 

Aderia forced a smile and hugged Mika close for a moment.  _Thank you,_ she signed.  _Go back to sleep._

 

Mika grinned back and bounced off the bed, returning to the one she shared with her brother Rob. All the refugees to the village had been housed in the soldier barracks, since the recent recruitment to Exile had drained the village of soldiers and left buildings empty. They slept in cots, uncomfortable but warm and not in a moving cart. Aderia couldn't complain. She had had worse in the knight's barracks in Brightcastle.

 

She laid back down and let Camellia settle down between her and Domra, and after some moment of listening to their gentle, slow breathing she too managed to go back to sleep.

 

The east shore of the Frozen Lake was a dense cluster of wooden houses and long, narrow barracks, spanning the distance from the eerie Silent Forest to the mountains, nestled right where the Jaw became the Belt. The sky was clear when Aderia left the warmth of the barrack to get started on making breakfast in the mess. She looked around in wonder. From their caravan arriving and until now, the skies had been cloudy and gray. But the cold, clear morning allowed her to get a better grip on where they were.

 

Aderia saw a familiar shape beyond the Ishemish mountains. The highest point of the Belt, Skymning. She wondered briefly how Lorai and Tam were doing, and she was glad Medin and her hadn't managed to convince Lorai to come with them through the Door. If they had, she might have been lost too, just like Medin and Ryca.

 

She shook the thought from her head. Ryca had found a way to sneak out. She must have. And Medin... he could talk his way out of anything. And Kael... well, he was important, so he must have been evacuated. Aderia decided that she would try to believe everyone was okay until the opposite was proven. There was no use in getting worked up for nothing. Not now, when she needed to keep it together for the children.

 

She wasn't planning on keeping them, of course. Their parents may still be alive out there and may come looking for them when the invasion was over and things settled down. When the war was over. If it would ever be over. No. No use thinking like that either. She entered the cold mess and got a fire started in the wood stoves, shuddering and rubbing her arms through the thick wolf fur Domra had lent her. She stopped over and rummaged through the pantry. She pulled out eggs, salted pork, a loaf of bread. And ground oats and fatty cream to mix together for Camellia, who couldn't yet have solid food. Oh right, and Heo didn't eat animals or anything made by an animal... she groaned and rummaged through the shelves once more. Apples, corn, some sort of jam...

 

She got started on making three separate batches of breakfast and a large pot of tea. Heo wouldn't have anywhere else to go. They came from very far away and didn't remember their family before being a slave. So Heo would have to stay... and she supposed she could look out for them until they found somewhere else they would rather be. A barrack in the coldest north with parents and a sister had to be better than the streets of Exile, right? Aderia reminded herself she wasn't much older than most of the children they had taken in. And she was as homeless as they were, now.

 

The ground beneath her feet gave a massive tremor and she had to grip the counter to keep standing. She watched the teapot shake and slide, but it stopped before it tipped over the edge of the stove. She ran over and secured the food and tea, taking either off the stove and placing it aside on a table. Everything was hot enough either way.

 

“Did you feel that shake just now?” Melia asked as she entered the mess, her less talkative husband and frightened-looking daughter Lettie in tow. Aderia nodded and took out bowls and cups, starting to set the table. Beyond their group, there were another ten or so families that had taken refuge in the Frozen Lake barracks. Not all of them came from Exile, some had fled up from other harbors.

 

“Let me,” Kain grunted at her, taking the spoons out of Aderia's hands and helping her set the table and get started on a second round of breakfast. He seemed a brusque man, but Aderia recognized his silence and curtness as shyness, rather than rudeness. She allowed him to help, and went to check on her own 'family' instead.

 

“You're here first again, girl?” An old man from the village met her in the door. He was small and crooked but once he'd been a great warrior, and an instructor in military strategy here when there were still soldiers to train. She had heard as much from his son, a local hunter. The old army man's bear skin coat was so long Aderia could barely tell one of his legs had been replaced with a wooden one. She could see that he leaned on his walking stick as usual, though.

 

She curtsied. He snorted at her. “No need. You're a great warrior yourself, if Domra tells me the truth. You need to rest, girl. You owe us nothing.”

  
Aderia felt the heat rise to her face. While she appreciated the sentiment, she didn't want to be seen as a case of charity. She had been a great knight... the prince's lifeguard. She wasn't a refugee because she couldn't fight. She was one because she had to look out for the children.

 

“Now, now, don't glare at me like that. As brave as it is to fight, as brave is it to realize when you need to retreat. Pick your battles, girl.”

 

And Aderia had picked. But what if she had picked wrong? She waved her goodbyes to the man, and he went to get his bacon and bread omelet.

 

The sun had now risen entirely and Aderia was starting to sweat under her wolf fur. She took off her knitted hat and wiped her face with it, glancing out over the blindingly white, snow coated landscape. There was the great lake, and the statue within it, and on the other side of the lake another village, once part of the same one, before the lake filled up. On the far side of the lake were the sharp stone teeth of the Jaw. The Frozen Lake was a large, glittering pond, certainly the largest body of water Aderia had seen that wasn't the ocean itself.

 

Wait... glittering?

 

Like in a trance she went down the slight slope, past the houses on the lake's edge, to where the sheds stocked with ice fishing drills and enough fishing line to reach the water deep below the ice were. And down here, there was no doubt. She crouched down on the very edge, where the snow had cleared and rocks and dirt showed through. She saw that others had noticed the change too, and flocked to the lake to see.

 

Aderia scooped up a handful of water, so cold her fingers went numb, and tasted it. Sweet water, but old. The Frozen Lake was no longer frozen. The ground shook again, and a woman who had come to take a closer look screamed, stumbled, and fell in the cold water. Aderia rushed to her aid, but some others reached her first and helped her out of the water.

 

She scanned the lake, feeling intensely uncomfortable by the sudden change. This lake had been Frozen since... how long was it again? Centuries? This area of Ishem hadn't seen a summer in as long. And now... maybe it was a miracle, but she felt nauseous without being sure why. What if. What if...

  
“Sunshine girl!” Domra called her from the road, herding a gaggle of children, two dogs and a goat toward the mess. “What's going on here?”

 

Aderia looked back at him, and when she turned, she saw smoke in the distance. Blacker than ever. Eld. And on the lake, out near the statue of Is, something was floating. She signed back at him as clearly as she could.

 

_Start eating without me. I've got to check this out_ .

 

“Be careful!” Domra shouted back, before urging the children on.

 

Aderia was grateful none of them insisted to come along. She wasn't sure what she might find. But she might want to face it alone.

 

She followed the edge of the lake intently, watching the boat to determine where it may come to land. It seemed to be headed for an old stone dock, now freed from the confines of ice and snow. As she hurried along, the ground shook more and more frequently. She felt like she was on a ship herself, out on a stormy sea again. When she reached the dock she sat down and waited, bunching up her wolf skin to sit on in the cold mud. The air was now warm enough that she didn't need it. She was worried.

 

The boat seated four people, three of them rowing and the fourth motionless. Aderia watched them approach with a pounding heart. The three rowers were dressed in leather and rusty chain mail, the fourth wore a gray cloak with the hood up.

 

Her heart beat faster and she wrung her hands. She wanted to yell at them to hurry up. To get in land. She knew the form of the fourth person. She knew who it was. And to finally see someone she recognized, someone she knew, someone she thought she might have lost..

 

The boat, a rickety construction of leather and wood poles, pulled up to the small dock and one of the Exile guards stepped out to tie it down. The other two helped Kael out of the boat. Kael did nothing to assist them. He just stood perfectly still. None of them paid attention to her as they grunted and pulled Kael out of the boat.

 

That wasn't right. He was never very heavy, and they were three strong men... She stood and rushed up to them, ready to help. But when she saw his face, she stopped in her track.

 

It had been concealed by the hood but when the hood fell back, she saw his face. His head. His skin... no. Not skin. She gasped and covered her mouth. He looked just like the Is statue in the Spires. Just like a miniature version of the great statue in the lake. Tears made her vision blurry as she approached slower. The guards watched her warily but allowed it, and she grasped Kael's face between her hands.

 

He was utterly cold and unyielding and unseeing. She gritted her teeth.

 

“The Prince did it,” one of the guards explained to her, probably thinking she was just another Ishemish. “He's finally quelled Is' rage.”

 

“Look around,” one of the guards laughed, though he sounded exhausted. “The snow is melting!”

 

Aderia turned and ran. She couldn't let them see her cry.

 

“What's her problem?” a third guard sighed.

 

“There's a lot of inbreeding up here, you know,” the first guard replied. Aderia ran faster, until the whole world gave a mighty tremble and she fell. And then she heard an explosion so deafening it made her ears ring. She ducked, expecting a cannon ball. But when nothing impacted, she looked around. Her heart turned cold.

 

The dark pillar of smoke from Eld was thicker than ever, and lit up by fire. Half the mountainside was gone, and the burning insides spewed out into the air. It was so far away, but she could make out the bright lava against the dark smoke. The sky turned dark with soot.

 

It began snowing again, but what fell from the skies wasn't cold. It was ash and dust. Aderia got back on her feet before she was covered in it, and started running for the mess. She ran past people screaming, crying, praying. 

 

_This is the end of it all_ , she thought.  _This is our final day._

 

 

 

 


	48. Chapter 48. Medin IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 48 contains:
> 
> Misgendering  
> Violence  
> Sexual harassment  
> Murder  
> War

**Chapter 48. Medin IX**

**Eld, Ishem.**

 

Medin wandered the Slopes aimlessly, nimbly ducking out of the way of tired-looking people with dirty faces and clothes. The paths and stairwells were narrow and rickety and he often had to stand aside to allow someone to pass, hoping a stray elbow or strong gust of wind didn't toss him off the roof he stood on and send him tumbling down the steep mountainside. He didn't peek over the edge more than he had to. The people scurrying all the way down there on the dirty cobbles looked like insects from up here. Insects lining up to be swallowed by the grotesque, ugly stone brick buildings that housed the factories and smelters and warehouses.

 

He had never considered how much work went into building ships, to making swords and suits of armors, to making steel. It had always just appeared before him. He didn't realize it could be such hard, dirty work. The air here was already making him cough, it was too thin and more smoke than air. He couldn't imagine spending a life here. He wondered what terrible things these people had done, in this life or another, to warrant such a punishment. And if they were so bad, why were they still allowed to live, when his mother was still dead?

 

_ That witch _ , he thought. Aderia's friend. He had trusted Aderia, and he had trusted Ryca. He had trusted his mother, too, and his sister. Now he wasn't sure what he had left to believe in.  _ My mother wasn't a good person _ , he reluctantly had to admit to himself.  _ But she shouldn't have been murdered. _

 

“Watch yourself, downhiller!” A woman yelled at him, sounding as angry as he'd ever heard anyone. She was hurrying down the stairs behind him, and he hurried on to get to the next platform and let her pass. She had a baby in a sling around her body. The child looked barely born yet, tiny as it was.

 

“Excuse me, miss, where-”

 

“Work!” The woman barked. Her face was wrinkled, but she barely looked older than Medin himself. “This little bastard's not gonna support itself, is it?”

 

He supposed not. He meekly let her pass, and watched her hurry on to the wharf.

 

_ I can see why Aderia's parents would flee this place _ , he thought. He had so many questions, and didn't know who to ask. Anyone here had reason to hate him. And no one had time for any questions.

 

The ground trembled and the shacks creaked and shook under his feet. He clung to the railing of the stairs, and watched everyone else rush by, as though they weren't at all phased by the very earth they stood on shifting under their feet.

 

Medin felt nauseous in a way he'd never even felt at sea. He hurried to the ground level and hesitated about where he might turn now. Did he go back to his strange kidnappers? Did he try to talk the Solfruan soldiers patrolling the island into taking him home to his sister? No... he had been branded a traitor. And he was supposed to be dead.

 

His tongue traced the gap in his front teeth, and he grieved his perfect smile for the thousandth time since he'd been disfigured. He had dreamed of getting gold teeth, to replace his old ones. But now that seemed like an unattainable goal.

 

Unless Midsommar could forgive him and take him back. He could be her adviser. Or maybe the promise of lands and servants far, far away still stood, if he revealed himself as alive...

 

He made up his mind. He'd go back home. Aderia had abandoned him. He had no hope of finding Kael. This country was cold and dreadful and dirty and war torn and he had no place here. Perhaps he had no place in Solfru anymore either, but at least it was warm there. At least the people were familiar. He turned toward the industries, where the Solfruan supervisors and guards were denser.

 

He'd just march up to someone and demand they take him home again. Someone had to recognize him. He knew things none of these foreign laborers would know. He looked like a prince, even in his borrowed clothes.

 

He found the two inspectors that his captors had spoken to before, recognizing the man and woman by their voices. He didn't remember their names. Master and Mistress something. The sun was setting and they looked like they were getting ready to leave their stations, though there were still many people waiting to be allowed off the boat and out of the fenced off port area. Medin approached the woman, putting on his most charming smile, but minding not to show his teeth.

 

“Excuse me, my lady, sir. Care to help me out?” He put on his best mask. He hoped a grin and perhaps a grateful kiss on the hand would be a satisfactory trade for some help. But if it wasn't... he mentally prepared to go all out.

 

“What is it, girl?” the armored woman gripped the handle of her sheathed weapon and chuckled at him. Medin's heart sank, but he wouldn't be so easily defeated.

 

“Actually, I am a man. I happen to be the prince Medin of Solfru, older brother of the Queen Midsommar, and I require your assistance off this island and a way to return home to-”

 

The cane hit him across the cheek and split the skin. He staggered to the ground, his head spinning with the pain and shock. He cradled his cheek gently, feeling blood. He nearly threw up when he realized how close the cut was to his eye. If she had hit a little higher...

 

“You think I'm new here, sloper scum? You think putting on a fake accent and washing your face will trick me? Show me your papers right now, so I know which family's wages I'm cutting.”

 

Medin trembled and sat up straighter. He climbed to his feet, only to be kicked back down from behind. Someone else had joined in. That other inspector, for sure. He glanced around. No one was coming to his aid... but some people were glancing his way.  _ Help me _ , he thought desperately to them. But everyone turned their eyes away again and kept walking.

 

“Stop! Okay, sorry, I don't have any papers. I really am Medin, son of Melara, I was taken against my will and brought-” He yelped when he was struck again, on the arm this time.

 

“The Prince is dead. And if he isn't dead, he's a traitor to the crown, and to be executed on sight. Want to change your little lie, girl?” The man growled. Medin remembered how friendly he had sounded when he had spoken to his kidnappers before. He could hardly believe these two officers were the same ones as those, but their voices were the same.

 

“I, I... okay! Okay! I'm not the Prince. I... I just hoped...”

 

“That you'd get out of your contract without authorization. Without your paperwork.” The woman spat on the ground right before him. Medin lowered his head in assent. What else could he do? It went against every core of his being. But he'd very much want to survive.

 

“I'm sorry. It was stupid of me.” His voice shook and reached a higher pitch. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest. Even with his makeshift binder, they had seen right through him. He felt naked. “Please. I'll never do it again.”

 

“Are you saying you'll be a good girl, and we'll just let you go?”

 

Medin nodded, lips pursed tightly.

 

“Say it.”

 

“I'll be a good girl. Please let me go.”

 

The two seemed to consider his pathetic plea for a moment, before laughing in his face. “No, I don't think so. You slopers don't know how good you have it, on that warm mountain. You're all guaranteed work, food, clothes on your back. And still. What's out there for a dirty little liar like you?” The man asked gleefully. Medin remembered that Neta had mentioned that they both had children. He felt sick.

 

“Nothing,” Medin echoed silently, hoping that he could just say the right thing to appease them. It always worked like that. He flashed a smile and said a few words, and all was right again. And if not, Aderia would flash her blade, and then no one picked a fight with them. But he couldn't fix this. He had lost Aderia, and his mother, and his title, and his gold, and his pretty face. Blood ran down his cheek. He started crying. “There is nothing for me out there.”

 

“Were you going to Sun City to whore? You think that's easy living?” the woman asked coldly, and he crossed his arms tighter over his chest, shaking his head.

 

“No, no, I know it's not. I'm sorry.” Medin ducked his head. “Please.”

 

“Ungrateful, lazy slopers need to be taught a lesson,” the man said in a disgustingly conversational tone to his partner.

 

“The cell?”

 

“The cell. A week should do. You'll be grateful for your food and clothes after that.”

 

Medin had had enough of cells for a lifetime. He staggered to his feet. “Please. No. I'll do anything.”

 

The woman grunted in displeasure and looked away. But her partner turned to Medin with an expression he was starting to recognize far too well. “Anything?”

 

He clenched his teeth and nodded, wiping tears and blood from his face. “Anything, Master.”

 

The inspector grabbed him by the arm and took him aside behind a warehouse. And that was as far as he got, before Medin punched him in the throat. That kept the man silent as they fought. Medin recalled all the wrestling Aderia had taught him once, when they were children and playing in the gardens of Brightcastle. She had even taught him how to kill, with wooden blades, of course. Medin did as he had learned when he grabbed the man's blade from its sheath. He tried not to remember that the man had children when he cut him open and hid his body in an overturned barrel.

 

He ran, taking the long way around so he wouldn't be spotted when he returned to the slope, taking the stairs several steps at the time. He just wanted to hide. But he only knew four people here, so he ran until he reached the high up shack where Neta and her family waited for him.

 

Imri took one look at his face and the bloody blade in his hand before he quickly scrambled to cover his sisters with his own body. Medin shook his head and dropped the blade. “No, no, I... I killed an inspector.” He croaked.

 

“Why?” one of the twins demanded, but her expression was twisted into a pleased grin.

 

“He, uh, he-”

 

“I'm sure he deserved it.” The other twin said firmly.

 

Neta grimaced, but approached Medin slowly, wiping his face with her skirt. “Did anyone see you?”

 

He shook his head, cringing as the cut on his face throbbed in pain. “No, but I didn't... I didn't hide the body very well. I panicked.”

 

“No need to wonder where they'll come look for a killer when a body turns up.” Imri sighed.

 

“Good. They'll do our work for us.” Neta said coldly as she dabbed at Medin's battered face. “You did well, Prince.”

 

“I didn't mean to,” Medin whispered back.

 

The four took him along as they spread the news to all the slope dwellers who weren't working. They split up, and Medin eagerly went along with Imri, as the girls all scared him. Imri seemed the most mellow of the four. They went door to door, and Medin told the story over and over, modified and twisted.

 

“The truth matters less than the message,” Imri said to cheer him up when he started fading after lying to yet another dismayed and angry family of tired workers. So Medin continued. Showing his swollen face.

 

“I killed him in self defense. Two of them attacked me,” Medin said in his most simpering voice, and two blacksmiths grabbed their hammers.

 

“I pleaded and begged but they didn't stop,” he said at another house. A whole family of five left their houses to help spread the word.

 

“The guards will throw everyone out tonight,” Imri said at yet another shack. “To find this poor orphaned boy.”

 

And the guards did come. The inspectors and the soldiers came in the night, but everyone was ready. The ground rumbled and shook, and the slope dwellers had the higher ground, and fought back the invasion of their rickety homes with a fury the island had never seen.

 

Medin cowered in a shack, curled up near the etchings on the wall. He felt sick, and he heard the screams and clash of metal outside. He should fight. He knew how to fight. But he was just so, so tired of everything.

 

He was lost in self pity when the twins came to him, bloodied and burned and dirty, and pulled him to his feet. For a moment he was sure they'd actually kill him now, since they hated him so, for reasons unknown to him. But one of them – Thie? - pressed a sword into his hands, and the other urged him on.

 

“Go on, Prince. Prove you're not entirely useless.”

 

“And maybe we'll forgive you for Kael,” her sister agreed.

 

If only Kael could forgive him too. He took the sword and nodded, putting on a helmet the other girl handed to him. Then the three headed out. He wasn't fearing for either of their safety. He'd seen them fight with a broom. He'd been on the receiving end of that. And they proved just as deadly with blades.

 

Gold armored soldiers and uniformed inspectors were cowering at the bottom of the slope, hiding in warehouses and factories, fleeing to the ships. But when the people on the boats realized what was happening on the island, they blocked off access, and fought their fleeing oppressors with all they had. Throwing wares and goods at them. Medin saw more than a few soldiers fall of the gangways when they were hit by thrown debris.

 

He followed the teeming mob, screamed with them, demanded justice with them. It was engaging, feverish, infectious. He was dragged along, though he'd never felt their pain, and their struggle wasn't his. He tried to avoid killing or hurting anyone, staying near the middle of the hoard. And he managed well, until they reached the end of the dirty industrial zone and came to the far side of the island, where the gated community for Solfruan investors and the wealthier people of Eld lived. They smashed down the steel gates and broke in.

 

Here there were gardens and large houses. A group remained behind by the gate, and Medin timidly stayed with them while the others ran along down the nice mosaic streets, raiding houses and setting them ablaze. Pleading women, men and children were dragged onto the streets and had their nice clothes torn from their backs.

 

“Please!” A woman screamed, covering her children with her body.

 

“Sloper scum!” A man yelled. He was cut down instantly.

 

Medin could only stare. It didn't feel real. The entire situation was so distant and strange to him. He held his sword, and he moved when he was told to move. But he knew he belonged on the other side of those blades.

 

_My old sword was Ishemish steel. It was made here. By these people. With blood and sweat._

 

From then on, everything was a terrible blur. Next time Medin knew, he was on a ship, with hundreds of Eld laborers, watching the sunrise as they sailed down toward South Harbor with their stores stocked with steel and weapons. Imri joined him, looking as sore as Medin's mind felt.

 

“So it is done. We're free.” Imri said with a sigh. “A freedom hard won. Thank you.”

 

Medin flinched. “Thank me? I did nothing for you. My very existence is the essence of everything you destroyed tonight! I didn't even realize-”

 

Imri looked sad. He shook his head. “No. You didn't. But now you do. And you'll never be the same.”

 

He wasn't wrong about that. Medin would never be the same again. But it hardly mattered now. He was no longer prince. He had no say in what Solfru did. And his sister, while cleverer than he ever was, was even more stuck up. Medin changed the subject.

 

“What will you do now?”

  
“Continue fighting for the next freedom. Those who want to leave and live will. But I'm continuing on. I don't think Neta would forgive me if I gave in now. And Ife and Thie... I guess they'll keep looking for Kael. They just-”

 

There was a deafening explosion and Medin turned to glance back at Eld. Only Eld was no more. The smoking island was engulfed in flames, and the mountain towering over it was split apart, fire and molten rock and flames pouring out of it like a fountain. A strong gust of hot wind filled their sails and the ships shot forward toward South Harbor, away from the rage of the mountain.

 

Medin shuddered. If they had been delayed but an hour, they would have been caught in that.

 

_I would not have allowed that to happen_ , the voice in his ear said. Medin shook his head, trying to chase the voice away. 

 

 

 


	49. Chapter 49. Kael IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 49 contains:
> 
> Hallucinations  
> Suicide  
> Mentions of sexual abuse

**Chapter 49. Kael IX**

**Frozen Lake, Frost, Ishem.**

 

It would be over soon. That was all that mattered, all that ran through Kael's mind as he climbed into the open eye of Is, ignoring Ryca's calls for him to stop. He wasn't very coordinated, but the promise of rest drove him into the dark cavern of the skull on his hand and knees. There was a loud grinding sound and after that he was enveloped in darkness. He thought for a moment that he had already died, that mercy had been so easy. But he still felt the guiding hands on his shoulders.  _ Mind your step, _ the voice whispered.

 

He was lead down a staircase in the great cavern, down into a level that was darker yet. A room nearly the size of the throne room in the Spires, yet with flowers covering the crystalline floor. “Will it hurt?” He asked his disembodied guide.

 

_ Sacrifice always hurts _ , came the cryptic response.

 

Hurried steps clattered after him down the stairs. Slow and awkward. He remembered Ryca's knee, and hoped she hadn't injured herself worse chasing after him. He turned. He didn't want her to see this, but he was touched that she'd try to come after him anyway.

 

“Ryca,” he smiled. His brain ached so much. His body ached more, and his heart worse still. His only balm was the knowledge that it would be over very soon. The voice had promised him as much. _Soon, you have played your part. You will be free of it._ And oh, Kael wanted to be free of all this so very badly. Once, he had had a hope of living out a fairly normal life in the Spires. Marett had cared for him so well. And then... and then he hadn't anymore. Kael had only wanted to make him happy. He had given everything freely, until Marett took absolutely everything he had. Things he had no right taking. But after this, there would be nothing left for him to take. _Let him starve_ , Kael thought. _I have nothing more for him._

 

“You don't have to do this, Kael. You don't owe anyone your life. They have no right to it.” He could tell, even in the dark, even with his broken eye and broken brain, that she was crying. It wasn't fair that she should cry for him. He didn't deserve it. She was crying for someone who had never been real. Who could never be real. He could never be anything other than this. When he was younger, he had heard other candidates talking, worrying about the future, when they aged out and would be made to leave. What would become of them then? He had never understood it when he was a kid. There were many things to do in the world. But there wasn't. Not for him. He couldn't survive outside the Spires, and he would never be allowed to survive within it. Even Marett wanted him dead, so that he could own him forever. Before, Kael wouldn't even have minded. He hadn't even fully understood that he was only property. He hadn't noticed the chains until they had pulled taut and nearly suffocated him.

 

“I'm not doing this for anyone. I'm not doing it to please Marett. I'm done. There's nothing left. Please understand. And leave.” His mind was fogging up again. He kept forgetting. The ghosts drifted into his field of non-vision again. Medin looked disappointed in him. Kael whirled to him, snapping at the spectral form. “Don't you dare! You hurt me, too!”

 

Ryca drew back. Kael laughed, and a string of drool dribbled down his chin again. He didn't even bother wiping it off this time. What was the point? It froze before falling to the ground. He heard the soft, brittle sound as the drop of ice hit the crystal floor.

 

“On Dim, you said I had no right to judge who should die and who should not. Only the Gods have that right. Then you have no right to-”

 

“He called me here, Ryca. I said that already, didn't I. This is where I'm meant to be. This is my place. I've learned my place. Finally. I don't belong to this world. I don't belong to humans. I don't belong to Marett. I belong to Him.” _And I pray he is kinder than Marett. Or at least that he did not lie when he said I would finally have some peace._ Kael didn't say these words out loud. It felt too dangerous, too disloyal, to question Is openly. But he felt a hand stroke over his back as he thought the words. He wasn't sure if the touch was meant to comfort him or threaten him. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

 

“You don't belong to anyone,” Ryca said. “Not even a God. Screw the Gods!”

 

_ That is the idea, _ Kael thought grimly.  _ That is my purpose. _ “Do I belong to myself?” He asked, instead.

 

Ryca faltered. He could hear it, hear the hesitating stutter, though he didn't see her. His vision was blurred. He didn't feel the cold on his face, but he knew he was crying. He didn't feel sad or angry or afraid, though. Just tired. This rest was well overdue.

 

“Yes... you do belong to yourself, and only yourself.” Ryca concluded. It sounded like her teeth were gritted. “And I know that is difficult to understand right now. You think you're broken, that things will never be better. But they will. You will be your own and you will find something or someone that's so good it makes all this worth it. If you just-”

 

“Will I ever stop being afraid?” Kael asked, cutting her off. He was so tired. His head hurt. His stumps hurt. His heart ached and he thought he could hear Marett screaming for him, he felt Is tugging at his hand. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want to be anyone's. He didn't want to be anyone. “Tell me the truth, Ryca. Are you still afraid?”

 

She hesitated again. And that was all the answer he needed. He closed his eyes, turned his attention away. He tuned her out and focused on the hands on his shoulders. He was afraid. He was so afraid. He raised the dagger to his throat. But his hand shook so badly, a painful spasm ran through his arm, and he dropped the dagger to the floor.

 

He let out a frustrated wail. But before he could stoop down to get it back, Ryca had picked it up. She clutched it tightly to her chest. There was desperation in her eyes. Kael reached for the dagger, ready to try to wrestle it from her grasp. But the voice spoke again, stilling his trembling instantly.

 

_Are you ready?_

 

“Yes. I'm ready. Please. Please hurry.” He saw the terror on Ryca's face and he felt a perverted sense of satisfaction.  _ I know you mean well, Ryca. But you can't save me. I can't be saved. _

 

_Are you prepared to become my eternal companion? To become as still and cold as this place, to watch over this land forever? To remain by my side until the sun burns out and this world dies?_

 

“I am,” Kael answered, and he tried not to be afraid. “I will be yours. My heart and my soul, my mind and my body. I belong to you.” Part of him wished Iona had been here to drug him again. He missed the colors, the music, how warm and loved and happy he had felt. Instead he felt only like he was rehearsing a play without depth, saying words which meant nothing but which needed to be said. He was promising everything away, but all of it had already been taken. His heart had been crushed and thrown to the waves. His soul was withered, his mind a broken thing. His body was more broken still, and Marett had already claimed it more times than Kael could count. He had entrusted him with everything, and Marett had stolen it all. 

 

_ And I will be yours _ , Is replied in his mind, and Kael forgot how to breathe. No, he was being encased in ice. Ryca screamed, as the peace finally settled over him. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He could only think, feel, listen.  _ My heart and my soul, my mind and my body. I belong to you. My power is yours. Let us trade _ .

 

This wasn't right. This wasn't how he'd learned the words. The princess or prince would offer themselves to the God. He had never read or heard about getting anything in return. Gods took and gave on a whim. They didn't trade.

 

_I am no God. But I will trade. Your form, your name, your voice, your heart. Give me these. I will give you four things in return._

 

Kael's mind was spinning. He wasn't sure what he'd wish for. He didn't know what he wanted. Peace. Freedom. Marett's love – true, actual love and respect, not... whatever he had. He didn't want to suffer. He didn't want anyone else to suffer, either. He wanted to see the world. He missed the Stone Gardens on Dim, and he missed Aderia's hugs and Medin's stories and he missed Ryca, her understanding and her honesty. Four wishes? How could he get four wishes? He was dying.  _ I don't care,  _ he thought.  _ Give me anything. Give me nothing. _

 

_ I cannot change the hearts of humans or the ways of the world. But you will have what I can give. _ The cool lips Kael felt press to his hand were chaste and courteous. Demanding nothing from him. 

 

_ Thank you _ , Kael thought, as his vision grew darker. There was no air left in his lungs, no lungs left to take in air. He became ice, he became crystal, but unlike in his fever dreams he didn't shatter and scatter for the wind. He remained in place, aware. And then he was suddenly warm and he could breathe again, gasping for air and opening his eyes, seeing and unseeing.

 

_Thank you, my prince. My last. My only. This is the end of it all._

 

Kael gasped, and Ryca gasped, and she hugged him tightly. Kael was so confused. He was staring at himself, blue and translucent and still. He reached out and touched his own face. The left side slack, the heavy crown in place over crystal stubble. The statue of himself, shaped out of a single block of crystal, was a perfect likeness. Just as ugly and damaged as Kael was.

 

“Why am I not dead?” Kael asked, gently untangling himself from Ryca's long limbs. She meant well, but the touch sent his heart racing. His heart was still beating. It still pumped blood through his beaten body. “You asked for my life.”

 

_I asked for your form. Your name. This is Kael. The last tithe. I am so tired of my name being used for such heinous acts. Now it will be no more._

 

Kael shook his head. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! “You promised me freedom! You said I could rest now!”

 

Tears ran down his face, unbidden and hot and humiliating. He thought he'd die. He had wanted to die. He wanted it all to be over.  _ I'm not good for anything else. _

 

_I have no power over freedom or peace. But this is the end of what has trapped you. The death of the prince._

 

Kael shook his head firmly, running his trembling hand over the stump of an arm, over the jagged scar between the statue's legs. “Why didn't you make me whole? Why didn't you make me beautiful? You could have made me perfect.”

 

_I did._

 

Kael couldn't stand. The ground shook under his feet as his knees weakened and he screamed out his pain, his shoulders shaking as he cried. Ryca crouched by him, drawing him to her chest. He wept not for what he had lost, but for what he had never had. No one had ever told him he was good enough as he was. There was a great gaping hole in his chest, but he hadn't realized it until then. He wondered for how long he had been bleeding out, if anyone else had noticed.

 

The ground gave another massive tremor and something shifted. A dim light made it down into the chamber. He heard steps, so familiar, so terrifying. Kael sat up straight in Ryca's arms. She ushered him away and reluctantly, unsteadily, he hurried into a dark corner to hide.

 

His heart beat slow and hard. He knew what would happen. He knew what must happen.  _ No one owns another person's life.  _

 

He saw Marett. He saw him weep and touch the statue. So cold and unyielding, just a recipient of whatever affection Marett saw fit to give it, uncaring of the wishes of that recipient. Kael felt sick for it, but he steadied himself.  _ I am not tricking him. He is tricking himself. As he tricked me, all this time. _

 

He saw Ryca return Marett's dagger to him. He saw Marett cut himself open. He saw Marett fall. The abstract possibility of his death became a sudden brutal reality. He heard someone scream.  _ Me. I screamed. _ He was at Marett's side in seconds, turning him over. He grasped Marett's bloodied hand in his own, heard the gurgling deep in his lungs. Saw his eyes widen in realization. He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. He wanted everything to go back to the way it had been. Before he learned it was all a lie.

 

No. No, he nearly threw up even considering it.  _ I loved you _ , he thought. “I was so scared of you,” he said. Both were equally true, he realized. 

 

“L-laela-” Marett croaked. Kael stood up on shaking legs. “My sweet.”

 

Kael turned his back on him in a violent motion. His hand was trembling too badly for him to undo the clasp of his cloak, Marett's gray cloak, it reeked of him and he needed to take it off. Ryca saw his plight and helped. When it finally came off, Kael turned back around.

 

Marett's eyes were glossy and unfocused, his face pale and slack. His chest had stopped rising and falling. Everything had stopped. Everything was over. Kael placed the cloak over his body. A shroud. He leaned down to close Marett's eyes, though his skin itched at the very thought of touching him. But he needed to feel for himself. He needed to  _ know _ that he was gone.

 

A sudden, rasping breath came from the body. Marett's hand shot up and grasped the chain dangling from the steel collar around his neck, tugging him down. Kael panicked and strained against him, but he lost his balance and fell over him. Ryca yelled and pulled him back, her strength greater than the weakening High Councilor's. Kael fell back against her, and Marett gave a wet, cracked cough, and then he was still.

 

“Is it over?” He squeaked after a moment of tense, awful silence.

 

_It is over._

 

Kael relaxed. Then he threw himself to the side and dry heaved. He had nothing to vomit up, but he tried still. His heart was beating so fast it was painful, and his vision had grown dark around the edges, even in his seeing eye.

 

“Am I free to go?” He asked. His voice sounded so small and scared in the great dark cavern. He heard only his own and Ryca's breathing. And that voice, no longer in his head but somewhere around him. Everywhere around him.

 

_You always were. You needn't have come here at all. But thanks to this, I think we can stop the tithes._

 

Kael bristled up. He knew Ryca couldn't hear the voice, but he spoke out loud to it anyway. “Why didn't you stop them long before?!”

 

A figure stepped out of the shadows. Thin and frail-looking, with large eyes and horns, it looked only vaguely like the Is Kael was used to seeing. It was no taller than Kael himself, and rather much thinner. It didn't look very human, or very godlike. It looked fey, and crystalline, brittle as glass. He silently walked up to them, stopping by the crystal statue of Kael and caressing the smoothly formed hair.

 

“I am no god. It takes a lot of power to make something like this. But I grew so tired of people calling my name before cursing the weather or raping children or slaying people. I just want to be left alone.”

 

Kael looked to Ryca. Judging by her expression, she was as shocked as he was. He stood and gently took her hand. “Then what can you do? You promised me-”

 

The figure vanished as quickly as though it had never been there. Down the stairs ran the three guards, shouting and swearing. Kael ducked behind Ryca's gown, trying to hide. His heartbeat raced again, and he felt like he might pass out this time.

 

The three men were wet from the knees down. They looked around the room like they had tried to piece together what might have happened. “Prince...?” One of them asked, turning not to the crystal statue, but to Kael, cowering behind Ryca.

 

Reluctantly, he left his hiding place. He'd be brought back now, wouldn't he? Or slain for killing the High Councilor. Or they'd take turns with him as Marett had whispered they might, had Marett not been there to protect him.  _ Everyone else is cruel and will not hesitate to hurt you _ , he would say. Kael grasped Ryca's hand tighter. She nodded firmly at him. They'd go down fighting.

 

“What is this?” The rust-armored man asked with a trembling voice. “How did you...?”

 

Kael stepped forward. Drool ran down his chin and he wiped it away, willing himself to focus on the man's face. He didn't know what his blind eye was doing, but his right eye was on him, at least. “Take this statue back to the Spires, if there's anything left of them. Place it with Is. Prince Kael and High Councilor Marett died here today, to save Ishem. There will be no more tithes. The God has his prince. There will be no more.”

 

“But...!” Another of the guards, Kael had never learned their names or their faces, protested. It was better to pretend they were no one, because that was what they amounted to. That was what they saw him as. He had once seen what he thought was a flicker of anger in their leader's eyes when Marett had been rough on him. But he hadn't hoped anyone would save him.

 

“There will be no more,” he repeated. “The God has been satisfied.” He signaled to Ryca to follow him, and headed for the stairs.

 

The third guard put a hesitant hand on his sword and stepped out in front of him. The cracked laughter escaped him before Kael had a chance to stop it.

 

“Strike me down, then. Kill me. Real blood for the tithe.” He was so beyond fear, so beyond exhaustion, that Kael couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He just didn't want to be in the same room as Marett's body, he didn't want to see his own broken form, as cold and empty and mindless as Kael had been meant to become on that throne. He stepped forward again. Stumbled, and Ryca limped after him.

 

The man backed down, and allowed them to pass. Kael didn't care anymore, if they did listen to him and bring the statue back. Or if they told everyone what they thought the truth to be. He might come to care later. But right now, he just wanted to sleep.

 

“The lake is melting, Prince,” the leader of the guards shouted after them. “If you're going that way, you need to hurry or you'll sink.”

 

Kael ignored the warning. He crawled out through the eye he had come in through, and found the lake freezing up again just below his feet.  _ A final thanks, _ the voice in his head said. 

 

“Get out of my head,” Kael responded. Everything was suddenly quiet and empty. It was nice. They rounded the head and slid over the ice toward the back, headed for the mountains. Kael wasn't sure where to go next. But he wanted away from Ishem, from everything.

 

“Where are we going?” Ryca asked as they finally reached the shore and the lake behind them turned to water again. The snow was melting too. The ground shook again. The sky darkened.

 

“Away from that,” Kael said. In the distance, Eld exploded. He wondered, very vaguely, if his family still lived there.

 

_ Did you do that? _ He asked in his head. He got no answer. It actually surprised him that Is had respected his wishes and left. He felt grateful for it, and then he felt worse for feeling grateful.

 

“Are you scared?” Ryca asked. Kael nodded numbly. She nodded back. “Me too.”

 

 

 


	50. Chapter 50. Ryca IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50 contains:
> 
> Suicidal ideation

**Chapter 50. Ryca IX**

**Exile, Ishem.**

 

“I've never gone through the Door,” Ryca said conversationally, breaking the silence they had been riding in for some hours now. She fanned herself with one hand, having already opened her coat and taken off her scarf. They hadn't seen the sun since soon after leaving Frost. They had ridden on and on under the thick cover of smoke and ashes covering the Ishemish basin. It was as warm and humid as the caverns on Dim. The snow had melted away, leaving mud and flooded rivers.

 

“Me neither,” Kael replied. He sounded so tired still, and she could hardly blame him. He was dripping with sweat, but wouldn't take off the hood hiding his face from view. They had left his steel crown behind, thrown it in the lake. The heavy cuff still hung around his throat, the chain jingling with each lurch of his horse. Ryca would have taken him to a blacksmith to have it removed, but she didn't dare, in case someone recognized him. The plan had been to go back to Dim, but when they had reached North Harbor after Frost, they had found the sea frozen solid. Continuing along the coast, it had been the same everywhere. Port towns ransacked, and Solfruan ships stuck at the cold sea, trapped within Tooth Bay with nowhere to go.

 

The further south they traveled the more obvious it became that the Ishemish had started fighting back. Soon there was as many corpses clad in gold littering streets and villages as there were corpses in leather and wool and furs. Their own lack of gold and weapons kept the now armed natives from attacking them, too, but it was safer to stick to themselves.

 

They reached the city walls of Exile to find not much of a wall left at all. Even by horse they had gone slow and it had taken ten days. Much of the city had crumbled from cannon fire. Some of the stone was blackened and cracked, and the insides of the city was a ruin. Everything not built from stone was gone, destroyed. And everything built from stone was toppled and blackened. Not even the Spires stood untouched, though it was surrounded by people. There were people coming to rebuild, or coming to try and find remnants of their homes, digging through the soot for treasure or memories or charred bones.

 

The smell was the worst, and together with the ache in her leg, it made Ryca nauseous. She dismounted her horse at the stairs to the Spires and stumbled as her wound exploded in fresh, fiery pain. She gritted her teeth and started climbing, Kael in tow.

 

Marett's guards had arrived before them and done as they had been told. In the still smoldering remnants of the throne room stood the tithe throne, its stone cracked in two from fire, and behind it stood the crystal replica of Kael, right before the greater crystal statue of Is. Two girls were climbing Is, washing it clean of soot, while watched by a man and a woman with their backs to Ryca and Kael.

 

Ryca was ready to leave, after assuring herself that it was truly over. But Kael was approaching the statues, lowering his hood slowly. A whistled melody drew Ryca's attention and for a wonderful, dizzying moment, she knew Aderia would stand there, whistling to get her attention.

 

But the whistle came not from her sister in all but blood. Perched on the open palm of crystal Kael's hand sat a small blue songbird, and with a loud tweet, it flitted over to perch on the real Kael's head. He let out a sobbing giggle and turned carefully to Ryca. “Look! Kay is here. She's my, my uh...”

 

“Finch,” the woman at the foot of the Is statue cut in. “She's a blue finch.”

 

“And a little pest to feed.” One of the girls just climbed down from the statue, and was soon joined by the other. The two were identical. Twins.

 

“She nipped my finger first time I stuck my hand in that cage, after you went and got yourself kidnapped.” The sister put her hand on her hip, dropping a soot covered rag to the floor.

 

“You're... you're my...” Kael stammered. He stumbled forward, startling Kay and making the bird peep angrily.

 

“Yeah, yeah. And you're dead.” One of the twins said, before they both embraced Kael tightly. Kay let out a startled chirp and took off, landing on Ryca's shoulder instead. She made sure to stand very still. The man and the woman approached more slowly, with sad smiles on their faces. Ryca recognized the expression before she did the features, and the man's words to Kael confirmed her realization.

 

“We were looking for you, brother.”

 

“Well, we found you,” one of the twins cut in, slowly letting go of Kael, who didn't look in too bad a state, which was why Ryca didn't try to interfere with the hug.

 

“And then we lost you again,” the other twin agreed.

 

“We thought you were dead. Your... this... statue, the men who brought it here, they said-” the woman hugged Kael, and then the man joined them. The man and woman didn't look much older than Kael, but the two girls were definitely younger. They all had the same sad, soft faces, but Kael's siblings were all dark, with black hair and brown eyes. Only the woman had the same straight hair as Kael, the others had tighly curled hair like most Solfruans.

 

“You need to keep telling people I am. Okay?” Kael glanced around, but no one else was paying attention to them. The hug broke apart awkwardly. “I'm so glad to see you. How is mom? A-and dad?”

 

The woman shook her head slowly. “Sorry, Kael.”

 

Ryca didn't see Kael's face from where she stood, but she saw his shoulders slump. “What... when?” He stuttered, and she could hear the sound of his chain jingling as he toyed with it. Ryca couldn't even imagine how he must feel right now. The loss of her own parents was so distant in time, and yet so vicarious in memory.

 

“Dad a few years ago. Mom last winter. The ash sickness, both of them.”

 

Ryca approached carefully to not intrude on their family moment, but she saw the way Kael was hyperventilating. She grasped Kael's fidgeting hand and took it between both of her own. “May I borrow your brother for a moment?” She asked, glancing at Kael. He nodded slightly at her, or perhaps that was simply a nervous twitch.

  
“By all means,” the woman said.

 

Ryca limped alongside Kael until they were just out of sight and hearing, standing in a half crumbled doorway. She breathed with him for a moment, watching his face relax a little, before she spoke. “Would you like to stay here with your family? If you do, I am willing to stay with you, for now at least. I would like to return to Dim eventually. But I wouldn't mind getting to know your siblings.”

 

To her surprise, Kael shook his head firmly. “I can't. This is weird. It's wrong. I don't want to be here. And maybe I'm selfish, but I don't want to be with them. It was nice to see them again, and I'm glad they're alive and well. But it's not my place. I don't belong with them.”

 

Ryca grasped his hand. “Kael, look at me. Your place is anywhere you decide it is, now. You can choose where you belong.”

 

“I just did. Let's keep going.”

 

They returned to the waiting four. And though Ryca was sure Kael could speak for himself, she decided to spare him the awkwardness, and the possible hurt feelings. She limped forward. “I'm sorry. We need to continue. The Prince's quest is not yet over... but we will be safe. You stay safe, too. And tell no one Kael is alive.”

 

“Take care of Kay for me,” Kael added in a whisper. The twin girls nodded firmly and one of them scooped the little bird off of Ryca's shoulder, getting up on her tiptoes to reach.

 

The four looked at each other. The man and the woman nodded solemnly, accepting the excuse. The two girls looked as though they were about to protest, but their older siblings held them back. And so Ryca and Kael kept traveling, out of the city and headed north along the Belt.

 

“You lie so well,” Kael said as he rode alongside her. Ryca loathed to hear the admiration in his voice.

 

“It wasn't a lie. And I can't believe you did that to them.” Ryca wouldn't have confronted him about it in front of them. She wouldn't do that to Kael. But if she had been given her family back... she would have given almost anything for that. If she got Aderia back... or her parents...

 

“I didn't do anything to them.” Kael insisted. “I don't owe them anything. I can't be who they would expect me to be. I'm too... different.” He was fidgeting with the reins. It was still cloudy and smoky, the ground still rumbled and shook beneath the hooves of their horses. Kael had pulled his hood back up, but Ryca could see the stiff expression on the still mobile half of his face.

 

“You don't know that. You could have given them a chance.” Ryca still couldn't drop her disbelief. She guessed Kael had had a very different family experience, but family was still family. “They weren't the ones who sold you. That was-”

 

“I know! I know, Ryca! It's not about that! I don't hold grudges against them, and I don't blame my sisters and brother for what my parents did. But I'm not ready, okay?” His eyes watered again. Ryca bit her lip. “I don't know if I'm willing to live another day yet, and I don't want that burden on them. I need to sort myself out first.”

 

“I'm sorry. I didn't think. I was just...” Ryca fumbled over her words. She didn't want Kael to hate her now. She wanted him to be happy, or at least at peace. And she had already been rejected by everyone else. Professor Minnow. Medin. Even Aderia.

 

“It's okay.” Kael said. “I'll figure everything out. I'm just... scared. That there's nothing left of me now. Without... Without Marett. And the Spires. And Is, and being the prince...”

 

“You'll find yourself again,” Ryca said gently. “Think about the things you like... and what you could imagine doing. There's much left of you. Just give yourself time to mourn.”

 

“Mourn? Everything Marett was.... everything he did. I thought he cared for me, but everything was a lie. What we were wasn't real. It felt real to me, though. I want to hate him, but... he meant more to me than my parents did.” Kael's voice cracked and he halted his horse. Ryca rode up to him and put a gentle arm around his trembling shoulders.

 

“It was real to you. You're allowed to grieve that.”

 

They stayed intertwined for a moment, before silently, without either one of them taking the lead, breaking apart. They continued onward, through the Summer Door and into Solfru.

 

 

 

 


	51. Chapter 51. Midsommar IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 51 contains:
> 
> Mentions of torture and war

**Chapter 51. Midsommar IV**

**Brightcastle, Sun City, Solfru.**

 

The castle was tightly locked and shut with the remaining Queensguard soldiers in the land posted on the walls, at the gates, in the streets outside. The southern rebels had mustered numbers far beyond what anyone could have expected, after news had spread that the daughter of a southern lord, the Queen's own handmaiden, had been imprisoned accused for the murder of the Queen. Falsely imprisoned, people said. Midsommar knew they were right about that, but she hadn't expected the people to be so perceptive, or so passionately against her.

 

The nobles who had sought shelter in the castle whispered against her. The cursed Priesthood investigators were asking her ever more invasive questions each time they returned from the dungeons having spoken to Silvi. It was hateful. She had sent her full strength south to quell the prison riots in Sandpoint, and the south had sent her army back as traitors.

 

The stocks were low. With the whole court to keep fed, Brightcastle might last a few days, if it was under siege. And if she threw the nobles out to fend for themselves, so she could instead keep the hundred or so Queensguard men and women fed for a season, Midsommar would lose what little monetary and political support remained to her.

 

“This is outrageous!” She yelled at Captain Pering, as she paced her tower bedroom dressed only in her nightgown. She hadn't slept for two nights, sick and furious with worry. She was trapped like a cat in a tree, surrounded by a forest fire. “Impossible!”

 

Pering's eyes were cold and unyielding as the ice he had told her of. “And yet it happened. All our ships, all our men, caught to freeze or bleed out. They will not come back. You would do well to surrender, my Queen. It may be the only thing saving your life.”

 

How could a fleet have frozen stuck on the sea in a course of minutes? The reports, sent by pigeon from the trapped ships, all said the same thing. There had been a great rumble, and then the sea had been as solid as rock around their ships, crushing hulls and trapping them in Tooth Bay, even as the cliffs grew out of the ocean behind them, the Jaw closing around them making it impossible to flee. An act of gods. A god not on their side.

 

The knights that had sailed west with her mother, and stayed west on Midsommar's orders, were stuck there. They would not come back. The barbaric Ishemish were once more at an advantage, and were fighting back. What would have been a fast and ruthless overtaking had turned into a bloody trap, and all was lost. There, and here in Solfru.

 

“I could never surrender,” Midsommar snapped. It may be the honorable thing to do, but it would be her death. She had thought the investigation into the Queen's death would die with the blame placed on Silvi, but not so. The Priesthood was too clever, too perceptive. They, as the people of Sandpoint, realized the handmaiden was hardly intelligent enough to have killed the Queen. If she had, and she had yet to betray any knowledge of it even during harsh interrogations, she must have been instructed to do so. The truth would come out. And Midsommar was doomed. “It would be my death sentence.”

 

“Then, my Queen, you must fight to the death.” The old man bowed and retreated out of her bedchambers.

 

All Midsommar had wanted was a chance to live up to her mother, no, surpass her. She had wanted to be the greatest Queen Solfru had seen since the legendary Marine, once a slave and then a pirate, then a pirate queen, then only Queen Conqueror. Perhaps she still could. An option still remained to her.

 

She got dressed in pants and boots, strapped her sword to her side and as many pieces of gold and gemstone jewelry as she could to her belts, then pulled on a loose dress over it. She put on a warmer coat, and stuffed warm skin gloves, lined with fur, into her pocket. They had been a gift from some Ishemish merchant or other, she seemed to recall. They would serve her well.

 

Midsommar exited her room and motioned for the guards posted at her door to come along with her. She knew any one of them may turn on her, too, as everyone else already had. Yet she started climbing the stairs down, down, down.

 

“I will see my handmaiden,” she told the guards at the dungeon door, deep down in the cold and dark. “Let me speak to Silvi. I wish to ask her in earnest what happened.”

 

One of the guards, a woman with sharp eyes under her gold helmet, shook her head. Midsommar bristled and clenched her fists in her pockets. How dare she...?

 

“The Priests are with her now.”

 

“The Queen wishes to be with her.” Midsommar said sternly. The guard shrugged but didn't let her pass.

 

The cold, sickening feeling in Midsommar's stomach grew worse. To be so blatantly disrespected by a lowly prison guard, even noting how the woman fingered her blade as though preparing to hold her back by force...

 

Midsommar wanted to order her Queensguard to slay the woman on the spot. But some of these knights had served her mother, some even her grandmother Maella. They may pick loyalty to each other over loyalty to a teenage Queen. They would definitely pick loyalty to Melara over Midsommar, when they learned the truth. And perhaps the truth was perilously near already.

 

Being a brutal Queen had served her ill. So she opted to be a wise one instead, if just for now. “I shall give the Priesthood space to complete their investigation. Wish them luck for me.”

 

She turned and climbed the stairs, her Queensguard as tight to her as a noose.

 

“I shall have a bath to clear my mind,” she announced as they passed one of the main floor bathhouses. Usually the Queen bathed in her own quarters with water brought up by servants. “Wait outside.”

 

If her guards suspected anything was wrong, they didn't betray a doubt. She slipped in past the beaded curtains and into the ladies' bath. She knew the water wasn't carried in through the main hallways, and she had heard rumors that her brother used to sneak commoners into the castle through the bath.

 

Midsommar grabbed the first massage boy she spotted. A pretty, smooth-skinned man with long, braided hair and large, strong hands. He would do, she supposed. “Can you sail a ship?” She demanded to know. He gaped at her. Pretty, but simpleminded, it seemed.

 

“Y-your Highness. Majesty. I. Uh. I've been on a ship, once, but I don't understand...”

 

She groaned, feeling a migraine coming on. She let go of him. “Never mind. Do you know anyone who has ever sailed a ship?”

 

“No, ma'am Queen,” he flinched as he struggled to speak politely enough. He had likely never expected a royal visit, despite living and working in the castle. Fair enough, as he was down on a lower level bathroom, far away from the upper levels and the upper circles of nobility. “Maybe you'd have better luck in the Port?”

 

Obviously. She rolled her eyes. “Brilliant boy. I don't assume you know how to get to the Port without being seen?”

 

“Oh, yes, ma'am my Queen. It's just down here.” He lead her down to another door, a long staircase spiraling down and out. “We fetch salt water for the salt baths down in the sea, of course.”

 

She cringed at the thought. That was where the whole castle's, no, the whole city's refuse flushed out with the waterfalls. Bathing in refuse did not seem like a very royal thing to do. “Thank you. That will be all.” She pushed him aside and headed down the dangerously narrow and steep stairs. She couldn't imagine anyone carrying heavy water pails up this way.

 

“Oh, don't go alone, my Highness! It's dangerous, at least call your guard!” The man called after her.

 

“No guards!” She shouted back, feeling a creeping coldness up her spine. He couldn't be so foolish. “Unless you want to die!”

 

“Then let me with you!” The man insisted, rushing after her down, holding up the loose, thin cotton pants around his well-defined waist. He tied his belt on tighter. “I'll keep you safe until you find an honorable sailor, my Queen! My name is Gil! I'm stronger than I look!”

 

“Fine. Gil. Come along. And stop calling me Queen, or Majesty, or Ma'am. Are you trying to get us both killed?” She hissed, grabbing tightly onto the front of his belt and pulling him along down the slippery rocks.

 

“Then...?” He stuttered, possibly due to the dangerous proximity of her sharp nails to his more sensitive areas. Or simply due to the steepness of the stairs and her hurried steps.

 

“How about Captain Mara?” She grinned. She had always dreamed she'd one day be a pirate captain, and not just a boring old queen. Of course, she hadn't imagine a flight for her life to be the triggering factor... ah, but perhaps she had more in common with her brother after all.

 

“M-mara? Yes, Ma-am. My captain.”

 

Their descent continued on in silence, enveloped only by the pattering of feet on wet stairs and ragged breathing. And eventually, the lapping of waves against the shore. They pushed open a door, miraculously unguarded, onto the rocky shore. In the distant darkening pier, the last ship in the Queen's fleet remained. Her very own vessel. Empty and ready to be claimed.

 

The former queen and the former slave crept onto the ship as the sun set on the horizon.

 

 

 


	52. Epilogue 1

**Epilogue 1. Ryca**

 

They called on her in the middle of the night. Ryca rolled over in bed, briefly pulling her blankets up higher over her head before the hollow knocking on the wooden door separating her stone room from the hallway outside finally woke her.

 

She stepped into her slippers and pulled on a robe, briefly considering to grab the knife under her pillow, but disregarding the notion. She grabbed her walking stick and pattered over to the door, unlatched and opened it. She looked down to see two pale faces, like moons in the darkness, reflecting the light from their lantern.

 

'It's started,' one of them signed with clumsy child fingers.

 

“Come help,” the other squeaked, clutching his friend's arm tightly. Their eyes glinted pink in the warm fire light.

 

Ryca nodded and followed them to the nurse ward, hurried steps through the caves of Dim. As they got closer, she could hear the cries clearly.

 

“Doctor! Her contractions started maybe an hour ago. But it's time now...” One of her newest students was wringing his hands, like he wasn't sure what to do. It was one thing to study it in books, quite another to witness something so miraculous, and painful, first hand.

 

“You should have called on me earlier!” Ryca exclaimed, horrified that Lana might have suffered for an hour before anyone even thought to call her. She rushed over to the woman in the birthing chair, stroking Lana's sweaty hair back.

 

“I told them not to,” Lana grunted through a pained grin. “You need your sleep.”

 

“And you need something for the pain.” Ryca retorted indignantly, clasping the woman's hand and swiftly having her hand crushed in a devastating grip. It didn't seem fair for her to express her pain, so she only gasped sharply.

 

Ryca told her somewhat useless, frantic pupil to take Lana's hand and hold it, and just observe as she worked. Preparing a relaxing tea, boiling water and sending the children to fetch clean rags, she commanded the scene efficiently. It helped soothe Ryca's own fears.

 

This was Lana's third attempt in as many years. Her pregnancy should have been impossible to begin with, but she had defied the odds many times over. Simply tracking her down had been an effort, after Exile was destroyed. She had aged out of the Spires a decade before the riot that killed Faiet, and had grown up to a less precise council. She had been made infertile not by a blade but by poisons, and Ryca knew poisons, and how to counteract their effects.

 

The baby was so light in her hands as she cleaned it gently. His hair thin and white as his mother's, skin an angry pink. His scream was healthy. Ryca washed him gently and handed him to Lara.

 

“Faiet,” Lara sobbed. “His name will be Faiet.”

 

Ryca smiled and embraced them both gently. All winter children, old and new, would be safe on Dim, as long as she had a say in it.

 

 

 


	53. Epilogue 2

**Epilogue 2. Aderia**

 

'Do you really think he'll come?' Domra signed. If he was attempting to keep his doubts from the children, he failed catastrophically, as they were all as adept at sign language by now as they were in Ishemish.

 

“You don't think uncle Medin will make it?” Camellia pouted, only to be hushed and soothed by Heo. By now, Heo could hardly be considered a child, and Ash even less so. In the years since the makeshift family had settled in Frost, Heo and Ash had grown a lot. Rob and his sister Mika had eventually moved out on their own, and Lille had reunited with his real parents. Aderia would never disallow Heo or Ash to stay with them, regardless of their age.

 

'Maybe, maybe not. He would love this, though,' Aderia signed back.

 

The trip to Solfru had been long and arduous, even with the improvements in trade and communications advocated by the Priesthood of <o>. Since the disappearance of the Queen and the following revolution, and the fall of the Winter Council in Ishem, things had been shaky. But trade routes had been established, including a large mining project to open the Door between the countries.

 

It was the first time Aderia had gone back to Sun City since she had escaped with Medin so many years ago. The city was like she remembered it. It was time for the Harvest festival, and the city was decorated with lanterns, lights and brightly colored fabrics. The sweet smell of fruit and fresh bread was heavy in the air.

 

Domra shot her a concerned look. She knew what it meant, and it was something they had talked about often after the kids went to bed. He might not even be alive. Aderia refused to believe it. She kept writing him letters and kept them in a box under her and Domra's bed, along with her unsent letters to Ryca. She would know if Medin was gone. Besides, as she often told Domra, he wasn't the type to just up and die like that.

 

As the family wandered slowly through the loud festivities, Camellia suddenly gave an excitable shriek and ran ahead of the rest to a booth, squeezing past the crowd to the front. A colorful sign above declared the offer of YOUR FORTUNE FOR TWO COPPERS, A STORY FOR FIVE.

 

Aderia sighed and hurried after, the rest of the family in tow. Now she wasn't much concerned for Camellia's safety – she had taught the girl to defend herself since Camellia knew how to walk. She was more concerned that Cammy would cause trouble or bother someone. Being the smallest – and painfully cute – Aderia had to admit that their adopted daughter was rather spoiled and more than a little wild.

 

Once Aderia parted the very tall (rudely tall, in fact) blockade of people, she felt like her heart stopped. There was no doubt about who the man was. Even scarred, with his hair blue, wrapped in purple rags decorated with eyes to mimic some painfully offensive idea of a Seer of <o>, she knew.

 

Grinning widely enough to show two golden front teeth, the storyteller looked up at her. “Took you long enough, sister.”

 

 

 


	54. Epilogue 3

**Epilogue 3. Kael**

 

Kael tiptoed out of the small bedroom, gingerly stepping over piles of sleeping dogs to make his way out to the balcony overlooking the misty, rock strewn shoreline. It had been a few months since Tam, Lorai, Kael and all the dogs had made their way to Dim. Kael had been living with the married couple since Ryca and he had parted ways in Solfru.

 

When news spread that Ryca had convinced the Priesthood to dedicate part of their island to the rehabilitation and protection of former winter children, the trio had hopped on the first ship there to visit, though they ended up staying longer. The warm, humid climate of Dim meant his scars rarely ached, and the mild sunlight filtering through the mists allowed him to go outside more freely, without fear of pain and sickness. The many plants cultivated by the Priesthood in their rock gardens allowed Lorai to paint things she had never been able to before, and Tam blended in perfectly with the local fishers.

 

It was a good place to live, Kael mused as he sneaked up behind Tam, wrapping his arm around her from behind and leaning against her broad, tan back. She pretended to be startled, then laughed. “The boards creak, Kay.”

 

“I know.” He murmured as she turned, setting her cup of tea down on the railing to play with his hair. He'd cut it short soon after moving in with them, to match the ragged patch of hair growing out over the scar in his skull, but already it was back to his shoulders, even and smooth.

 

“You should wear a shirt out here.” He said firmly, covering one of her small breasts with his hand.

 

“No one's out here.” Tam rolled her eyes but smiled. Kael pouted and turned his head to peer at her with his good eye.

 

“You'll get cold.”

 

“So keep me warm,” Tam grinned.

 

“Don't tease him,” Lorai walked out behind them, her long hair a mess and her nightgown hanging loosely off her sloping shoulders. Both of them were so uncaring, Kael thought. So relaxed in themselves, in a way he didn't think he'd ever be.

 

“Aw, he likes it.”

 

“You're mean,” Lorai retorted, pressing in on them both and pressing a kiss to Tam's lips. Then she turned to Kael with a mischievous smile. He nodded his consent, and she kissed him good morning as well.

 

Maybe he'd never be quite as confident as Tam and Lorai, but that was okay. They could keep each other warm for as long as they needed.

 

 

 

 


	55. Epilogue 4

**Epilogue 4. Medin**

 

Two months out of Eld erupting, Medin stepped ashore in a foreign land. With him he had the stray kitten he'd rescued in Exile after the invasion. The pale kitten had been missing its right front paw, and its blue eyes had told Medin everything he needed to know about who the mewling baby cat really was. Owing it to Kael, he took care of him this time.

 

He had gotten aboard a ship leaving Freja, and the Captain proved the dashing, honorable type. She knew a lot of things about a lot of things, it turned out, and while she was happy to project an image of a woman of voracious sexual appetite to her crew, whenever he retired to her room at night, they usually ended up playing cards, or he'd tell her stories, and she'd tell him stories in return. Some nights, she would simply pet Kael the cat until she'd fall asleep with the purring kitten in her arms, leaving Medin to make himself comfortable wherever there was room in the bed.

 

As they reached Armas, the land of gold, she left him with the most wonderful warning. “Nothing here is as it seems,” she whispered in his ear, only to pinch his ass in case her crew watched them. He let out an appropriately rehearsed squeak of surprise, before hoisting his sparse bag of belongings (won off of the sailors in card) over his shoulder. Kael traipsed after him, as quick on three legs as other cats were on four.

 

Medin swept the cat up and clutched it to his chest, giving the Captain an apologetic smile before leaving. While he regretted taking the cat from her, perhaps he had inspired her to simply get a cabin cat of her own. Medin couldn't separate himself from Kael, not after he'd already failed him once.

 

In the distant morning haze, the pyramids grew from the sand like horns on a beast. The ominous warning still ringing in his ears sounded like a promise, and he grinned widely, hurrying his steps.

 

“This'll be good, Kael. Just you wait. I'll tell everyone your story. We'll see the world together, you and I. I promised.”

 

Kael meowed in agreement.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end of The Stolen Prince! The next book in the series is The Straying Prince, which follows Medin on his own journey after overthrowing the merchants on Eld and seeing Kael's statue in Exile. It will be posted... eventually, probably.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Check out my TSP tumblr [here](kaelwinterprince.tumblr.com).


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